On the Road
by Leah Kate
Summary: After leaving the house behind them, Kate and Sawyer must deal with numerous obstacles, including each other, in their attempt to reach a safe haven. Sequel to In Hiding.
1. Chapter 1

Well, I managed to hold out for just 3 weeks - so pathetic. I'm like one of those singers who keeps retiring and then staging a "comeback" tour before you even have a chance to miss me. But, oh well...

This is the sequel to "In Hiding." If you haven't read IH, I'm not going to try to convince you to... This one should be pretty self-explantory. Kate and Sawyer have been living together, now they're running from the feds. This chapter is almost more like a prologue... it lays out a lot of the themes and threads that will be carried throughout the fic. And this story will likely focus more on Kate, since IH focused more on Sawyer. It will be darker, but if you stick with it, I don't think the end will disappoint you. Anyway, that's enough commentary from me!

* * *

**Chapter One**

Kate nudged the screen door open with her foot and stepped down onto the cabin's simple wooden steps, built like a ladder, with three planks descending almost vertically. The bottom one was rotten, and she felt it buckle dangerously under her weight, but she sprang off lightly and headed across the clearing. In her hands she carried a blue plastic jug, which she set down next to a narrow metal pump that rose about three feet out of the ground. Grasping the handle, which creaked and groaned as she lifted it, she waited impatiently for the water to begin to trickle out.

Suddenly, she raised her head up, listening. She pushed the handle back down, cutting off the pressure and silencing the steady thrumming of the pump. Now it was quiet again.

A slight, cool breeze whispered in the tops of the trees and lifted a lock of hair gently away from her face. She pulled her thin cotton jacket closer around her.

Taking a step away from the water spout, she scanned the clearing, all her senses alert. The woods were thick here, and dark, composed mostly of pine and fir, the ground littered with a thick carpet of needles that muffled and absorbed sounds. Still, her instincts were so fine-tuned that she was almost certain she had heard something.

She mentally calculated the distance to the cabin, where the guns were. If she sprinted, she could cover it in a few seconds. But now the cracking of a stick made her freeze again and turn her head in the other direction, muscles tensed. She waited, holding her breath, prickles of cold sweat breaking out all over her body.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a bright blur of red streaking toward her from the other direction. Before she could turn her head or raise her arms for defense, the world was tilting upwards, and she winced as she landed on her back with a thud, her arms pinned down above her head, the air momentarily knocked out of her.

Looking up, she gazed for a few seconds at the face that hovered over her, and then closed her eyes in annoyance.

"Very funny," she said.

Sawyer's hair hung down in a halo around his stubbled face like greasy clumps of corn silk, and his dry, chapped lips curved upward with a hint of enjoyment.

"Thought I told you to take the gun every time you stepped out the door."

"I was just getting water."

"And look what happened," he said triumphantly. "Some crazy guy runs out of the woods, and here you are flat on your back, ready for the taking."

"I could give you a concussion right now if I wanted to."

"Maybe so... But if it'd been one of them, they'd have probably already had you in handcuffs. Or maybe knocked unconscious with one of those fun little tasers they like to carry around."

Kate exhaled wearily. "All right. You've proved your point." She allowed him to enjoy a few brief seconds of victory, then demanded, "Now get off of me."

"You sure about that?" he asked slyly, leaning down to breathe lightly against her neck, which immediately raised chills on her flesh. He let go of her wrists and ran his hands down her body, tracing the curve of her waist before beginning to move back up.

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she shoved hard against his chest with all her strength, throwing her weight onto him in the same motion and flipping him over to the ground beside her, reversing their positions in a flash.

"I'm sure," she said with an arch smile, still leaning onto his chest.

He grinned back at her, but as she watched, a shadow passed across his face. All the playfulness died out of his expression, and he pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"Shit," he muttered, looking miserable. "I forgot."

"What?" she asked, confused.

He looked over at her, pointedly. "I shouldn't have done that... Knocked you down like that. I guess we got to be more careful from now on."

Now she understood what he was talking about, and the realization both scared her and pissed her off at the same time. It scared her because she'd forgotten, too. But the reason for the anger was unexplainable. There was no telling where it came from, but it was instantaneous, and she directed it toward Sawyer for lack of a better alternative.

"We don't know anything for sure yet," she said, her tone dark and forbidding. "And I'm _fine_. Nothing has to change."

He watched her, not answering, but she could tell he didn't believe that for a second. He looked like he felt sorry for her, which she hated more than anything. He also looked like he wanted to talk about it, something they hadn't done yet. But she couldn't. She still wasn't ready to go through that again. What was the point? There wasn't anything new to say, and they'd already been through it all.

And now he was getting ready to speak her name... She could practically feel him gearing up toward it, preparing himself. His face wore that serious, thoughtful expression which was the first warning sign.

"Kate," he said quietly, still looking at her. Just like she'd expected.

Standing up quickly to escape from this moment, she walked back over to the pump.

"Did you find it?" she asked without looking at him, trying to change the subject.

She felt him waiting a few seconds, giving her another chance. But she remained facing away from him, keeping her attention focused on the handle. Finally, the water began to flow from the spout, and she raised the jug to catch it.

He sighed, giving up on her. "Yeah. It's right where I thought it was... Same place it used to be. 'Bout half an hour's hike from here."

She nodded. "We'll wait till it gets dark."

"You still want to leave tonight?"

After considering for a second, she said, "I think we should. After we get what we need."

"You mind tellin' me what that might be?"

Now she glanced back over her shoulder at him, a sly smile playing about her lips. "You'll see," was all she would say.

Lowering the handle back to its resting place, she lifted the heavy jug and carried it toward the cabin. Sawyer watched her, still sitting on the ground, wondering what the hell she was up to.

* * *

It had been Kate's idea to stay in the area, to lay low for a few days. Sawyer had been all for hitting the road and not looking back. His instincts had urged him to put as much distance between the two of them and the house as they possibly could, and the sooner, the better. It had taken every ounce of patience Kate possessed to convince him that that was _exactly _what they would be expected to do. Their best bet, she knew, was to hide out somewhere close until the pressure had died down - until the agents had turned their attention elsewhere, trying to pick up a trail, giving up on the immediate vicinity. Then, and only then, could they safely leave. Although he had eventually come to see the wisdom of her plan, it wasn't easy for him to agree to it, and it was even harder to carry it out. But he'd gritted his teeth and done it.

So, instead of heading west or north, they had first gone east, threading their way even deeper into the mountains of eastern Tennessee. Kate's initial idea was to camp out somewhere in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, but Sawyer, determined to have _some _input at least, had bettered this suggestion with his own. Somewhere on the western edge of the park, still deep within the forest but located on private property, were the derelict remains of an old summer camp that had been built with the purpose of rehabilitating troubled youths. He knew this thanks to the fact that he had once been sent there, and the exact location of the camp remained etched in his memory because he had run away from it so many times. So much for rehabilitation.

After cutting down a section of sagging barbed wire fence, they had been able, just barely, to maneuver the truck along the old rutted roads that had once been used by camp personnel. The cabins they eventually found were falling apart from neglect, the green paint flaking off like a bad sunburn, the screens ripped and flapping idly in the breeze. The first one they had ventured into was already occupied by a family of raccoons who seemed offended by the intrusion. The second was missing a section of roof, and the floor was rotten and caving in from decades of exposure to rain and snow. The third seemed habitable, but just barely.

Since they only planned to be there for a short time, however, this was the one they chose to sleep in. The beds were simply shelves of wood extending from the walls, small and narrow, built for children, making both sex _and _sleeping a bit of a challenge. There was no electricity, no light, and no heat, except for what they generated themselves through the contact of their bodies. The running water consisted of the metal pump in the ground outside, and for bathrooms, there were moldering latrines that, despite not having been used for twenty years, still retained a stench that could knock you down.

They had been too wary to risk a fire on the first night, but over the next few days had made do with a small blaze underneath a grate, just enough to warm their hands and to heat water for coffee. It was only the beginning of November, and though damp and cool, it wasn't truly cold yet. They'd brought enough food to last for about three days, but it was quickly running out. And although they'd been lucky so far, not having seen or heard a trace of another human being, they knew it couldn't last. They would have to move on, and soon.

"So what's it gonna be? Mexico?" Sawyer now asked as Kate slid a road atlas out of her backpack on the evening of their third night here. He ripped open a package of beef jerky and looked at it in disgust.

She sighed deeply and flipped the book open to the Tennessee map. They'd made only one stop on the way here, at a gas station, and Kate had been adamant about purchasing the atlas, even though it cost thirty dollars. _Thirty bucks for a goddamn book of maps? _Sawyer had demanded. _Hell, all we have to do is follow the road signs, and they're free_! But she had simply looked at him until he reluctantly shelled out the cash.

"I don't think so," she finally said, surprising him.

He waited, watching her. They were sitting on beds across from each other, on opposite sides of the small 8 x 10 foot cabin. Sawyer's legs hung over the edge of his bed, and Kate's knees were drawn up to her chest. It was ridiculous how much this felt like summer camp, he mused. Any minute now a counselor would come in and tell him that he wasn't allowed to have girls in his bunk. The thought almost made him smile, and he tried to hold it back.

When she didn't say anything else, he prompted her. "Well, then what'd you have in mind?"

She raised her eyebrows at him a little. "You're not gonna like the idea."

"How 'bout you tell me what it is, and _I'll _decide whether I like it or not?"

She waited a second, and then said simply, "Canada."

The look on his face was exactly what she'd expected.

"I told you you wouldn't like it," she said with a smile.

"Canada," he repeated, confused. "_Why_?"

She stared down at her fingernails. "When your aunt was here... She said that she knew this guy... he lives on some kind of wilderness preserve up there, near the Yukon. She thought he might be willing to help us out... to let us stay there."

"The _Yukon_," Sawyer echoed sarcastically. "Sounds like a blast."

Kate looked up at him, sharply. "This isn't a vacation, Sawyer. I know it might not sound like the greatest place in the world to live, but we don't have the luxury of choice. Or at least _I_ don't," she added, more quietly. All of a sudden, she looked exhausted.

Now he felt terrible. The truth was, he didn't give a rat's ass where they went. He was used to leading a rootless existence, and one place had never seemed to him much better or worse than another. There were people dumb enough to be scammed everywhere. But all that mattered to him now was her. If he could just keep her close to him, they could live at the damn North Pole for all he cared.

"You're in charge of the maps, Freckles," he said with an apologetic expression. "I'll go wherever you want to go. Just say the word."

She met his gaze, gratefully, and gave a slight nod.

"Then I think we should try it. It seems like the safest option." She went back to examining the atlas.

The cabin was getting darker by the minute. Sawyer switched on a flashlight and trailed the beam aimlessly along the walls above and to the right of Kate's head.

She began to speak quietly, almost to herself. "We have to go slow. It's easier to make mistakes when you hurry... and we _can't _make mistakes. The key is to stay on the back roads. The interstate would be about five times faster, but that's exactly how they'll expect us to go. They only have so much manpower, and they won't waste time monitoring the rural areas and the older highways." She looked up at him.

He had the flashlight's beam pointed high into a back corner, where a long-ago camper had rendered, in black magic marker, a graphically realistic depiction of a naked woman.

"Sawyer?" she asked.

"I think I mighta drawn that," he muttered distractedly.

She sighed. "Would you pay attention, please?"

He turned the flashlight beam toward her, making her wince in the glare. "Back roads... Got it. What else?"

"We should also try to travel at night as much as possible. We can sleep during the day. That way it'll be harder for them to see who's inside the truck."

"I drive better at night, anyway," he said with a grin, trying to be supportive.

She gave him a wan smile in return, but she still looked tense and preoccupied. Dragging himself off of the bed, he crossed over and took the atlas from her, tossing it to the side. He climbed onto her bed and stretched out on it, gesturing for her to join him. She leaned over and straightened her legs out, resting her head on his chest, just underneath his chin.

He sighed into her hair, bringing both arms up around her to pull her closer against him. "We'll get all the details worked out as we go," he said quietly. "No use in worryin' yourself sick over 'em now."

She closed her eyes and listened to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart, letting herself rise and fall with his breath.

"Do you think they went in?" she asked sleepily.

"What?"

She raised up, leaning against him, peering at his face just inches away from hers. "After we left. Do you think they went inside the house?"

He understood her now. "Nah," he said, trying to sound casual. "There coulda been a hundred reasons why I didn't want 'em snoopin' around in there. I coulda had drugs in there... or hookers... or some kind of illegal porn..." He trailed off, smiling. "Probably figured I just got nervous and cleared out. I doubt they even bothered." Reaching up, he tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear from where it had fallen.

"Because if they dusted for prints," Kate went on, as if she hadn't even heard him, "Then they'll know for sure that I'm with you."

"They didn't go in," he whispered, looking straight into her eyes.

She leaned down and kissed him, softly.

"Ready for our little hike?" he asked when she raised up again.

She glanced at the screened windows lining the sides of the cabin. "I guess it's dark enough. Then after that, we can go ahead and clear out." Running her fingers through his hair, she said critically, "You need a shower."

"Yeah, well, you don't smell so hot yourself, darlin'. But you don't see me complaining."

"That's because you _like _it," she answered with a smile.

"Can't argue with that," he said in a wicked tone. With his hands on her hips, he attempted to maneuver his fingers under the waistband of her jeans. "How many days you been wearin' these underwear now?"

Rolling her eyes, she removed his hands and pulled herself off the bed. "Come on, you pervert," she said, grabbing his arm and dragging him to a standing position. "I have a job for you that _doesn't _involve my underwear."

"Freckles, for me, _every _job involves your underwear... You just don't know it."

She laughed as she opened the door and went out.

* * *

After Kate had grabbed some things and stuffed them into a backpack, they set out carrying flashlights, Sawyer armed with a revolver. It was harder than he'd thought it would be to find the place again in the dark, but he pretended to know exactly where he was going. Kate pretended to believe him.

After they'd been walking for about forty-five minutes, he stopped abruptly and shone the flashlight in a wide arc. At the furthest extremity on the left, the beam caught a glint of metal.

"It's right over there," he said, gesturing.

Kate moved in the direction he'd indicated, and he followed just behind her. They both halted at a chain-link fence.

"Wow," Kate said quietly. "That's the most hideous thing I've ever seen."

Spread out below them on the opposite side of the fence was a clearing in the woods. Acres and acres of wrecked, junked, and impounded vehicles stretched as far as the eye could see, illuminated sporadically by isolated halogen lamps. Some were in remarkably good condition, while some were simply twisted, monstrous hunks of metal. A few looked to be brand new, but the majority dated back to the seventies and eighties.

"Is that the highway over there?" she asked quietly, looking toward a distant, hazy line of light just barely visible to the north.

"Yeah," he replied. He waited a second, then asked. "All right, so there it is... Just like I said, a salvage yard. I'm all ready for the big reveal. You mind tellin' me what the hell we're doing here?"

She smiled reticently, but finally turned toward him, speaking in a conspiratorial tone, as if she was giving up a great secret.

"License plates."

He looked at her like she was crazy. "_What_?"

Sliding her backpack off her shoulders, she kneeled down and started digging through it. "I know it seems ridiculous, but it's the details that matter. You'd be amazed how much help the tiniest little thing can be. Even if it only buys us a few more _minutes_, that could mean the difference between getting caught and not getting caught."

"You honestly think switching around the _license plates _is gonna have any effect?"

Standing back up, she handed him a screwdriver. "It does." She paused. "Haven't you ever done this before?"

"Can't say that I have."

She smiled a little, but her eyes were serious. "Then I guess you'll just have to trust me. Think you can handle that?"

He sighed in annoyance, but replied, "I'm out here, aren't I?"

She nodded. "Good."

Then she turned to scan the fence. "Looks like we'll just have to climb over." Without another word, she grasped the fence up above her head and lifted herself, positioning her feet in the gaps of the chain-links to get leverage.

"Hold on just a sec there, sweetheart." Sawyer hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her back down. "Before you start hummin' the Mission Impossible theme, you might want to take a look at the sign." He aimed the flashlight onto a notice in neon orange letters nailed to a board. It read _Beware of Dog_.

Kate rolled her eyes. "I don't see a dog," she said impatiently. "Do you?"

"It's a big place," he answered, concerned at how reckless she was being.

"Well, we've got the gun." She turned back to the fence. "Besides, they just put those signs up to scare people away." She started climbing again.

"That's assuming the kind of people who steal from salvage yards know how to _read_," Sawyer muttered under his breath, following her over.

When they'd both reached the opposite side, they paused for a few minutes to get their bearings. Kate looked around thoughtfully, taking stock.

"I know most of these will be Tennessee plates, but we're so close to the interstate, there've got to be others here too. Keep your eye out for any states we might pass through on the way to Canada. I haven't decided yet where the best place to cross the border is, but any state north and west of here would be good to have. Duplicates are fine, too. The more, the better."

Sawyer sighed, still not entirely convinced. "You know most of the dates on these are expired, right?"

She gave him an almost pitying look. "That can be fixed."

He didn't even bother to ask how. Obviously she had an answer for everything.

"I'm gonna start this way," she went on, pointing down the row nearest to them. "You should take the edge over there, on the right. Work down the fence line."

"Whoa, now... wait just a second," he protested, holding out his hand. "You never said anything about splittin' up. You really think I'm gonna let you go wanderin' around out there by yourself?"

"Sawyer, it doesn't take two of us to read the name on a license plate! We can cover twice the ground, in the same amount of time this way."

"It's not safe," he insisted.

Kate was getting fed up. "Look, I didn't bring you out here to be my babysitter, okay? I know what I'm doing. Now do you want to help, or not?"

God, he wanted to smack her sometimes. They stared at each other confrontationally for a few seconds. Finally, with an almost wounded air, he pulled the gun out of his waistband and held it out to her.

She hesitated before taking it, looking a little sheepish. Tucking it into her pocket so that the handle stuck out, she said with a softened expression. "Meet me back here in twenty minutes."

As she walked off, he called out after her, "How am I s'posed to know when it's been twenty minutes?"

"You're wearing a watch!" she called back without turning around.

He looked down at his wrist. _Damn it. _Pissed, he glanced after her one more time and then trudged off in the other direction.

Keeping a close eye on the time, he worked as quickly as he could, trying to stay alert and listen for any sound she might make on the other side of the salvage yard. When the twenty minutes were up, he headed back to the place they'd started from. To his immense relief, she was already there. He was also pleasantly surprised to see that his stack of license plates was bigger than hers. It wasn't much to be proud of, but it made him feel a little better.

"Well, now," he gloated, "I thought with all your _experience _at this, you'd have a whole truckload ready to go."

"All the cars on that side were wrecked," she said in explanation. "Let's see what you've got."

She took his pile and started to flip through it as they walked back toward the fence. She paused on one and looked over at him, raising her eyebrows in amusement. "New Mexico?"

"_What_?"

"On the way to Canada, you think we might somehow pass through_ New Mexico_?"

"It's dark out here," he said defensively. She turned back to the pile.

"Besides," he went on, "A little side trip to the desert don't sound half bad. You ever _been _to New Mexico?"

She considered for a second. "I robbed a bank there once," she said in complete seriousness.

Sawyer grinned and shook his head slowly. "That's my girl," he muttered.

Kate smiled too, choosing to see it from his perspective for once instead of with the sad veil she usually viewed her past through.

By now they'd reached the fence, and she tossed the plates over the top. They landed with a loud metallic clatter, and Sawyer winced, although Kate didn't seem bothered. She climbed back over, and he quickly followed. Scooping up the plates, she quickly scanned and then re-scanned the few that she'd found, with a strange expression.

"What's wrong?"

"There should be another one of these, from South Dakota. I know I had two that matched. I must have dropped it."

"How 'bout we just wait till we _get _to South Dakota and swipe one off a car?" he asked wearily.

"Because someone will _report _it." She sounded like she was talking to a child. Scaling the fence again, she said, "I think I know where it's at. It won't take long. Just wait here."

She was right, it didn't take long. She had disappeared into the darkness and re-emerged again with the missing plate before an entire minute had even passed by. But as she walked back to him, an odd, jangling sound drifted toward them from the opposite direction. Kate stopped, turning to listen.

To Sawyer, it sounded, absurdly, like sleigh bells. But this notion was quickly dispelled when he saw what was really producing the noise. Trotting out of the shadows was a large, famished-looking Doberman with metal tags hanging from its leather collar, knocking against each other. Drawing in his breath, Sawyer grasped the fence, not knowing what to do.

Kate remained frozen as the dog neared her. It started to growl even before it stopped trotting, the motion producing a stuttering sound. It stopped about five feet away from her, now beginning to snarl, its entire body tensed and angled forward, in full attack mode. Thick ropes of saliva glistened along its jaws.

She still hadn't moved a muscle. It was like she was in some kind of trance.

"Shoot it," Sawyer called out through clenched teeth, trying to stay as quiet as he could. "For Christ's sake, shoot it, Kate!"

But she made no move for the gun at all. The dog kept snarling, taking deep, choked-sounding breaths every few seconds.

He was on the verge of climbing back over, to try to distract the thing, to get the gun away from her to shoot it... to do _something, _at least. Anything was better than this terrifying stasis. As he grasped the fence to pull himself up, though, she finally moved. What she did was the last thing he would have expected, and the strangeness of it made him pause and watch her, bewildered.

Keeping her arms motionless at her sides, she dropped to her knees in front of the dog. It snarled louder at first, obviously startled. She continued to stare directly into its eyes.

Sawyer watched this scene play out, the two of them - Kate and the dog - illuminated under the glow of a lamp post, like they were on some kind of stage. But at the same time, it felt like he was witnessing something intensely private, like he was never meant to see her this way. Because the expression on her face was mystifying to him. He couldn't read it at all. He couldn't even decide what it was a combination of. It was like nothing he had ever seen there before, and he felt chills rise along his arms and neck.

At almost the same instant, the dog stopped growling. It continued to stare at Kate, threateningly, taking deep, staggered gulps of air. They were at eye level, and the animal seemed as mystified as Sawyer. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, it lowered its head slightly, and with an almost solemn air, turned around and walked back into the shadows.

Sawyer's heart was still pounding in his chest, but he couldn't yet form any words.

Kate remained where she was for a few seconds longer, her eyes still locked on the spot the dog had just occupied, the unreadable expression fixed on her face. Then, slowly, as if she was emerging from a deep hypnosis, she seemed to shake herself, looking around her, at first without recognition. Noticing Sawyer, she pulled herself to her feet and continued on toward him.

She stopped at the fence, and the two regarded each other warily.

"What the _hell _was that?" Sawyer demanded harshly. "Why didn't you shoot the damn thing! You coulda been _killed_!"

"The trick is to not show any fear," she said unconvincingly. But he wasn't buying it. That hadn't had anything to do with what he had just witnessed. Whatever had been going through her mind, it wasn't that.

"That's _bullshit_," he whispered with anger.

She looked at him calmly through the fence that separated them. The metal links crisscrossed her face, dividing her features into fragmented segments which made her still slightly unfamiliar to him.

Without answering, she climbed up and lowered herself back down on the other side, stuffing the license plates into her backpack as he watched. After she'd slung the bag onto her shoulder, they started to walk.

As they neared the top of the incline, Kate stopped and looked back. Sawyer turned, wondering what the hell she would do now. But it was okay, he saw with something like relief. Now she just looked sad. Sad, and tired, and afraid. Unfortunately, this was a part of her he recognized all too well. She gazed back into the salvage yard, as if she was searching for something that she knew couldn't be found there.

He waited a second, and then touched her arm. "Hey."

With reluctance, she turned to face him.

"We got a long drive ahead," he said softly.

Nodding, she started to walk again. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close against him, and she didn't resist.

The two flashlight beams receded into the distance, lighting up the path back to the campsite and the packed and waiting truck.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry this chapter was so long in coming (OMG... I just cracked myself up with that one. You'll get it after you've read the chapter.) ANYWAY, I hope to update on Sundays or Mondays most weeks, so if you like schedules, you can look for it then. Other than that, I should say that this chapter has more sexual content than usual - Some will like that, and some might be offended... But I try to please everybody!

* * *

**Chapter Two**

They hadn't been traveling for more than an hour when a fine, misty rain began to fall. The interior windows of the truck quickly fogged over, and the temperature dropped, the air becoming damp and chill, the kind of cold that soaks into your bones. Kate fiddled around with the heater, and was astonished when it actually came on, blowing a stale-smelling gust of warm, dry air into her face. She looked over at Sawyer, who seemed just as surprised as she was, though he tried to hide it.

For a brief respite from the gloom, they stopped at an all-night truck stop for their first real meal in three days. Kate pulled the hood of her sweatshirt far over her head so that she seemed to peek out from the recesses of it. They sat at a booth in a dimly lit corner, and though she received a few glances from lonely truckers ranging from appreciative to outright lustful, nobody seemed to recognize her. The waitress was half asleep and had heavy dark circles under her eyes. She barely looked at them.

They were both too tired and hungry to make the effort required for conversation, and so the meal passed mostly in silence. In the bathroom, Kate held her hands under the hot water faucet longer than she needed to, enjoying the warmth and the steam that drifted up toward her face. Her eyelids drooped and her chin sank toward her chest. Suddenly she jerked her head up, forcing herself to turn the water off and go back out to the truck, where Sawyer was already waiting.

"Did you fall in?" he asked sarcastically.

Sighing, she pulled her seatbelt on and didn't answer him.

The oppressive mist continued to drizzle down, not turning into real rain, but not diminishing either. The windshield wipers swooshed back and forth... back and forth... back and forth. On every third trip to the left, they made a pronounced squeak. Kate timed it, and then followed the rhythm in her mind, keeping track to see if it would stay in sequence. The combination of motion and sound was strangely hypnotic, lulling her into what felt like a trance. It was only on the seventh squeak that she realized she was about to throw up.

Closing her eyes tightly, she swallowed hard and took deep, slow breaths. _Just don't think about food... just don't think about food_... she repeated to herself like a mantra. Of course, the harder she tried _not _to think about food, the more she thought about it.

Opening her eyes again, she looked out the window for distraction. They were passing through the main street of a tiny, run-down mountain town. The place was deserted except for their truck, and the neon signs of the storefronts cast a distorted, colorful sheen onto the wet pavement. The red and green of the town's only stoplight was reflected so brightly and garishly on the slick street that it hurt her eyes. But to her immense relief, her queasiness began to pass.

On past the stoplight, they were forced to wait at a railroad crossing as a train lumbered by, so slowly the boxcars appeared not even to be moving.

"Gonna be okay?" Sawyer asked quietly without looking at her.

Kate glanced over at him, surprised. She hadn't thought he'd noticed anything at all.

"Yeah," she finally whispered, turning back to the front. "Fine."

For a minute the only sound was the steady beating of the windshield wipers and the clanking of the train. Then Sawyer exhaled loudly and with purpose, as if something was troubling him.

"Before I forget," he muttered. Reaching behind him, he dug his wallet out of his back pocket. Kate watched curiously as he searched through it for something. It was the same wallet he'd had on the island, now dirty and stained and falling apart. She wondered vaguely if it would ever occur to him to buy a new one. Probably not, she decided.

He finally pulled out a strip of paper and glanced at it once, then handed it over to her.

"Memorize it," he told her. "Then get rid of it."

She looked at it in the faint light from the dash. It was a phone number.

"Whose number is this?" she asked slowly.

He kept his eyes on the train still rattling past, and she could see a muscle in his jaw clench tensely. At first he didn't answer, but then he forced himself to say, almost wearily, "It's Jack's."

Kate continued to stare at him, not quite understanding.

He turned his head to her, reluctantly.

"Just in case."

He spoke in a low voice, giving her a meaningful look.

She held his gaze for a second, then quickly glanced out the window to her right so that he wouldn't see the tears that filled her eyes.

There was really only one situation that his "just in case" could apply to, and it wasn't anything she wanted to think about. It had occurred to her that they might not both see the end of this journey, but even in her worst imaginings, she had always pictured _herself _as the one who would be cut down. Not him.

After a few seconds, however, she took a deep breath, composing herself, and looked back down at the paper. Her memory was keen and fine-tuned, and it didn't take her long to burn the numbers into her mind. When she was positive she had them, she tore the paper into tiny shreds and rolled the window halfway down. As the last car of the train threaded its way to the west, Sawyer hit the accelerator and they began to pick up speed again.

Kate held her hand out the window and opened her palm, letting the fragments drift away and dissolve in the moisture. The air on her face was cool and refreshing, and she took deep draughts of it into her lungs, trying not to think about how much danger they might have to face.

"Too bad we can't just hop on a plane and fly up there, huh, Freckles?" Sawyer asked, as if he was reading her mind. "Would make things a hell of a lot easier."

She smiled slightly. "When has flying ever made _our _lives any easier?"

He grinned at her. "You got a point, there."

She rolled the window back up and unbuckled her seatbelt, then scooted over closer to him on the seat. Leaning her head onto his shoulder, she breathed in the damp aroma of his jacket and watched the road rise up out of the darkness to meet them.

* * *

When Kate opened her eyes, the sky was a pale pearly gray, the drizzle still falling. She sat up quickly.

"What happened?"

Sawyer turned his neck stiffly to look at her, then back to the road. "What do you mean, what happened? You fell asleep, sassafras. After that last gas station, you gave me the road directions like a damn drill sergeant, and then you just passed out." He looked exhausted, but still amused by this.

"I'm so sorry," she said miserably. "I wanted to stay awake with you."

"There's always next time," he answered. He didn't appear bothered at all. She had a sneaking suspicion that he might have enjoyed the silence.

Sighing, she looked at the landscape they were driving through. The mountains were lower here, more like plateaus, really, with the valleys and flat areas between them larger and more spread out. They were on a narrow two-lane highway that snaked through what looked like the outskirts of a medium-sized town.

"Where are we?"

"'Bout to cross over the state line into Kentucky," he replied.

Kate peered closer up ahead. "Is that a motel up there?"

He glanced where she was pointing. "Looks like it."

She nodded. "Pull in there. We've come far enough for one night."

"You sure?" he asked. "It ain't even light yet... I can go another hour or so."

"No," she said firmly. "You need to rest."

He rolled his eyes and made no move to slow down, even though they were nearing the entrance to the parking lot.

"Sawyer," she said with emphasis. "Turn up here. I mean it."

"Oh, well then, if she _means it..." _he repeated irritably, swinging the truck into the lot and bumping along the rutted asphalt to the parking spaces against the sidewalk.

"Ask for a room on the other side of the building," she told him after he cut the ignition. "Second floor, if they have it."

"Yes, _ma'am_," he said, opening the door to get out. "Anything else?" He looked back at her with false, exaggerated patience.

"That's it," she said slowly, trying not to snap at him. She knew it was just lack of sleep that put him in this kind of mood, but she certainly wasn't going to encourage it.

He slammed the door and headed around to the office, coming back a few minutes later with a key. They found the room and carried a few things in, looking around. It was a standard cheap motel room, not much better or worse than any other. The carpet had cigarette stains, the mattress was as hard as a rock, and on the wall hung a framed portrait of a Cherokee Indian chief on which a previous occupant had drawn a joint and a nose ring. There was also a long, floor-to-ceiling mirror positioned strategically in front of the bed, which simultaneously made Kate grimace and Sawyer arch his eyebrows approvingly. Overall, the place wasn't bad. Good enough for sleeping and cleaning up.

"What names did you check us in under?" Kate asked.

Sawyer looked proud of himself. "Bonnie and Clyde," he said in a funny voice, cocking his head to the right.

She had to fight the urge to smile, even though she should have been annoyed. It was too risky to pull shit like that, even if it _was _funny and sadly appropriate. "Don't do that again," she said quietly.

He ignored her.

"You want the shower first?" she offered, trying to be diplomatic.

"Go ahead and take it," he said. "I'll just watch some TV. If that's okay with _you_, of course, sweet cheeks," he added.

Closing her eyes for a second and sighing, she picked up her backpack and went into the bathroom.

When she came out about twenty minutes later, he was sound asleep on top of the covers. He'd grabbed the remote, but hadn't made it far enough to press the button. She smiled and pulled his shoes off, which didn't even cause him to stir.

While he slept, she did their laundry in the lobby next to the room, turning her head nervously away every time someone passed by on the balcony or clanked up the metal stairs to use the vending machines. It was a dark, overcast morning, and although this area was enclosed on two sides, every once in awhile a moist gust of cold air blew from the front of the building, making her wish she hadn't put all the warm clothes in the washer at the same time.

After she bought a coffee from the machine, she went back to their room to wait. She watched the news and was relieved to see that there wasn't a single mention of anything regarding Sawyer or herself, on either the national or local news. Maybe they'd overreacted, after all, in leaving so suddenly. It wouldn't be the first time. But still, she didn't even let herself entertain the notion of going back. They would have had to leave sooner or later, no matter what, and at least _this _way, they had a decent shot. If they'd waited any longer, things might have been different.

On the back of a flyer advertising Dollywood that she'd picked up from a rack near the vending machines, she wrote out a list of things Sawyer would need to get before they took off again, then studied the atlas in detail for a while, making mental notes. Eventually, she brought the dry laundry back to the room and folded it. Sawyer still showed no signs of waking, so she lay down next to him and flipped the channel to one of those obnoxious old black and white romantic comedies from the 40s where the leads talk a million miles a minute and it doesn't matter what they say because they never seem to shut up. The heavy curtains were pulled all the way closed, and when she flipped the lamp off, it was as dark as midnight.

She reclined against the pillow as the light from the TV flickered on the walls, trying to focus her mind on something other than the miles they still had to travel, but it was hard to think of anything else. The coffee kept her awake, and she began to wonder why she'd bought it. It was early afternoon, near the conclusion of another annoying movie, when Sawyer finally woke up and stumbled toward the bathroom without a word.

After he'd showered, she gave him the list and suggested that he go now while she waited here in the room. It was safer than waiting in the truck.

He squinted at the words, still not entirely awake. "_Hair color, blonde_," he read, sounding confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't know what _hair color _is?"

"I know what it _is_, I just don't know what the hell you want it for."

She tried to speak patiently, like she was talking to a little kid. "They know exactly what I look like - they just _saw _me when I was arrested on the island. If I change my hair color, that's just one more detail that could make all the difference in the world."

He stared at her for a second, a strange expression on his face, almost one of regret.

"What?" she asked, genuinely confused.

"Nothin'." He spoke hesitantly, like he was embarrassed. "Maybe I don't _want _you to color your hair, is all. Maybe I like it the way it is. Ever think of that?"

For a second she didn't know what to say. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, looking down at her hands, and then back up at him with slightly raised eyebrows.

"And stop givin' me that look," he said with scorn.

"What _look_?"

"That _'Isn't he adorable?' _look."

She rolled her eyes. "You may be many things, Sawyer, but _adorable _will never be one of them."

He appeared to be thinking. "All right, how 'bout this? I'll get you a wig, instead. It ain't like they're gonna know the difference, trust me. Guys don't see that kinda stuff."

She considered, but finally gave in with a sigh. It wasn't worth arguing about. "Fine. But not the cheap kind, okay? They're really tacky."

"Oh, so you're a _high-class _fugitive now?" he asked with sarcasm.

She leveled a hard stare at him until he lowered his eyes back to the list.

He finished reading it, and then looked away, thinking. His face grew more serious. She was prepared for this.

"So you don't want me to get another test?" he asked quietly.

For a second she looked down at the floor, not answering. "No," she whispered, finally meeting his eyes. "I can't go through that again. Not yet."

He still watched her like this answer didn't satisfy him.

"What's the point?" she asked defensively. "Either way, we'll know eventually, right? Can't we just... wait it out?"

She heard the edge of desperation in her voice, but there was nothing she could do about it. He eventually looked away, disappointed but giving in for her sake. "Suit yourself."

He stood up and prepared to leave, grabbing his jacket. At the door he stood and looked at her pointedly like he wanted to say something else. What he finally settled on wasn't what he'd been intending, but it would have to do.

"You should try to get some more sleep. You look pale."

She nodded and gave him a slight smile. "I will."

"Be back soon."

A few minutes after he'd closed the door behind him, she realized, with a slight twinge of irritation, that he'd forgotten to take the room key with him.

* * *

The sleep that she drifted into once he was gone was deep and all-encompassing, and the eventual sound of knocking reached her as if through water. She had to struggle up to the surface to make any sense of it, but she finally realized what it was. Dragging herself up off of the bed before she'd even opened her eyes, she moved blindly toward the door through the dark. _Damn him_. He was the one who'd told her to sleep, wasn't he? The knocking was insistent and heavy.

She twisted the latch, feeling for the correct angle in the dark. "Just a minute!" she called out impatiently. Finally it turned, and she swung the door open and was momentarily blinded by the stream of bright light that flooded in. "Maybe next time you'll remember to take the..." Her words were cut off in shock as her eyes grew more adjusted to the daylight.

It wasn't Sawyer who was standing there. It was a cop.

He looked at her strangely, like he was trying to complete the sentence she'd just begun, but couldn't quite figure out which word should come at the end of it, or if it even applied to him. He was chubby and middle-aged, and apparently sweating, as though the climb up to the second floor had taken it out of him.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, confused.

Kate was frozen, unable to form any kind of response at all. She wasn't even sure if her heart was still beating.

Finally, he took the initiative and went on. "I just wanted to let you know, ma'am, that the complaint's been taken care of. You were right, they were all underage... Guess they were plannin' some kind of big party for tonight... you know how kids are. But it's broken up now, so you shouldn't have nothin' to worry about." He stopped here, like he expected some kind of response.

She tried to fit his words into meaningful symbols, shuffling them around in her head, attempting to make sense of them. Was she even awake? Was it too much to hope for that this was just a dream?

"_What_?" she finally said desperately, giving up on meaning.

He seemed confused. "Weren't you the one that called about the room next to yours - the teenagers drinking, gettin' rowdy?"

She forced her head to move back and forth, shortly. "No," she whispered, still bewildered.

He mopped his brow with his sleeve, looking up above her head and squinting. "Well, shit," he muttered. "Guess it was the folks on the _other _side of that room." He looked back at her, apologetic. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay," she finally managed.

He nodded at her, which apparently signified a goodbye, because he turned to go. As she was preparing to close the door, he called back, amused. "You sure are one sound sleeper!" Then he turned his attention to another door, two rooms down, and began the task of pounding on it with his fist.

She went back into the darkened room and sank down onto the chair at the side of the bed. The whole thing was funny, in a way, but she didn't feel like laughing. After her initial relief, the only emotion she was capable of was disgust with herself. How the hell could she have let herself get that sloppy? What had she been _thinking_? Obviously, Sawyer wouldn't be back this soon. And he would probably let her know it was him, instead of just banging wordlessly on the door. She could partially blame it on the grogginess of being pulled out of a deep sleep, but it wasn't only that. She had _expected _it to be Sawyer there, without even questioning that assumption. She had known it would be him standing there in the same way she'd known he would ask her about the pregnancy test. She had _depended _on it being him.

And maybe that was the problem, she realized with a sinking feeling. How many other things was she simply _depending _on these days? What else was she taking for granted? She knew that she never would have done something so utterly stupid and careless during her earlier years on the run. And the reason for that, she assumed, was that she had been alone. There hadn't been the opportunity to depend on someone else, and so she never had.

The horrible thought suddenly occurred to her that maybe this couldn't work with two people. Sawyer had just been acting like his typical smart-ass self when he signed them in as Bonnie and Clyde, but maybe the parallel should serve as a reminder of what could happen when you tried to partner up at this. After all, those two had been killed together, hadn't they? _Maybe Bonnie would have been better off striking out on her own_, Kate thought bitterly.

But then she was appalled at herself for thinking such a thing. Perhaps it was true that this wouldn't have happened if she'd been alone, but then again, if she'd been alone, she wouldn't have been in this motel to begin with. She would have been crouched in a truck stop bathroom, or hunkered down under an overpass somewhere. It was Sawyer's money that was paying for all of this, and she shouldn't let herself forget it. Of course, in her heart she knew that the money was beside the point. She was now dependent on him for much more than that, and maybe that was what truly scared her.

About an hour and a half later, he finally tapped on the door. "It's me! Forgot the damn key..."

She sighed and unlocked it, letting him in. It was late afternoon now, and the sun would be setting before long. The smell of food wafting out of the bags he carried in with him suddenly made her realize that she hadn't eaten all day.

"What'd I miss?" he asked jokingly, dropping everything on the bed.

She was quiet a minute, and he looked over at her, concerned.

"Nothing," she finally said. She smiled softly. "I just slept."

"Hungry?" he asked.

After they'd eaten, Sawyer took an envelope from one of the bags and drew out a huge, bulging pile of money.

"Oh my God," Kate said incredulously. "What'd you do, knock over a liquor store?"

"_No_, he said contemptuously. "It's _mine_. I took it out of the bank."

As he began to count it out, she noticed that almost all the bills were hundreds.

"You cleared out your whole account?" She sounded alarmed.

"It's a Tennessee bank... Won't be easy to get to the money once we leave the state."

"You don't have an ATM card?"

"Lost it."

"You can get another one."

He sighed. "Look, if they decide to track us, you really want to leave 'em a nice little ATM trail all the way up there?"

That was a good point. And also one she should have thought of herself.

She looked down at the bills, still worried. "It isn't safe to travel with this much cash."

"Safer than the alternative." He glanced at her. "You really think someone's gonna rob us? Be kind of ironic, wouldn't it?" He looked amused.

"Stranger things have happened," she told him wearily.

They were quiet for a minute as he counted. She could tell how much he enjoyed the actual physical presence of the cash, the smell and the feel of it. She didn't even want to touch it.

When he was done, he leaned back against the headboard. "So... you gonna try it on, or not?"

She looked at him blankly. "Try what on?"

"The wig," he said, like it was obvious. "Hell, I spent half an hour pickin' the damn thing out. Least you can do is put on a show for me."

She closed her eyes in irritation, then opened them back up. "I have to do it _now_?"

"You got anything better to do?"

She didn't have a response for that. "Where is it?" she asked in a tired voice.

He tossed her a plastic bag. She reached in and pulled it out, making a face. It was a dark, shiny auburn, long and wavy.

"Sawyer! I thought I told you to get _blonde_."

He didn't look at all apologetic. "Blonde wouldn't suit you. This'll be better, trust me. Red hair'll match your freckles."

He looked so pleased with himself that she almost smiled. Standing up, she went into the bathroom. There was the mirror in the room, but she didn't want him watching her.

She didn't bother to do much with her own hair, since this was only temporary. She simply pinned it back loosely and stuck the wig on top of it, trying not to pay too much attention to what it looked like. At least she wouldn't be recognizable. That was the important thing, she told herself firmly.

With her arms crossed, she went back out. Sawyer was staring at the TV, but he glanced up at her. The look on his face changed to one of surprise, then to one of interest, then to one of fascination. He stared at her intently.

"God _damn_," he breathed.

"Oh, God," she said in a disgusted tone. "Is this_ turning you on_? Please tell me you're joking." This was certainly not something she wanted to deal with right now. Not after what she'd been through today. After the shock of the police officer at the door, she didn't think she'd be able to concentrate on _anything_, especially what he seemed to have in mind.

Instead of answering, he stood up slowly and crossed the room to her. He continued to gaze at her wonderingly for a second, then he gripped her by the waist and turned her towards the mirror, spinning her around despite her resistance.

He stood behind her and a little to the side, and she looked at the reflection they cast. As strange as it was, she realized that she had never actually _seen _the two of them together like this before. She had to admit to herself that they matched up well, physically. But the wig was disconcerting. It made her look like someone else, and the image in the mirror seemed to be of a different woman - a _stranger _- standing with Sawyer. She raised her hand to pull it off, but he caught her fingers and brought them back down to her side. She met his gaze in the glass with a confused look. There was a gleam of intent in his eyes that she knew all too well.

Lowering his head a little, he breathed against her ear, "How 'bout you just leave it on for a while." The roughness of his grizzled cheek against her neck sparked something that had been dormant in her, and suddenly, her body was in complete agreement with his plans. Maybe, after all, this was exactly the distraction that she needed. She turned toward him, intending to reach up around his neck, but he stopped her yet again.

"Uh-uh," he whispered teasingly, angling her so that she was facing the mirror again. "You just enjoy the view."

Reaching around from behind her, he undid the lowest button of her close-fitting white Oxford shirt, pulling the two sides apart to reveal just a bare triangle of skin below her navel. Before starting on the second button, he ran his fingertips tantalizingly over the exposed flesh.

Kate kept her eyes on the reflection in the mirror, unable somehow to draw her gaze away, even though she wasn't entirely comfortable with this. It was too bizarre, too different from anything she'd ever done. She had an ambivalent relationship with herself at the best of times, and this was pushing the limits. The auburn-haired Kate stared back at her, trying to remain still as Sawyer's hands worked their way up from the bottom of the shirt, unbuttoning deliberately, with excruciating gaps of time between each one. He kissed along her neck, his tongue occasionally darting out, pressing against her skin, and she had to fight the urge to turn her head and meet his mouth with her own.

Finally he reached the top button at the fabric just above her chest, and she felt the warmth of his hands and wrists where they rubbed lightly against her. Pressing upward toward him did no good; he drew his hands back tauntingly, keeping the pressure gentle and maddening. Drawing the two sides of the shirt apart, he pulled it away from her shoulders and slid it off her arms. The sudden air against her skin raised chills.

Now the reflection in the mirror was wearing just a simple white bra, edged with a hint of lace. If Kate looked closely, she could almost detect the steady throbbing of her pulse at the base of her neck. Sawyer kissed around from her right shoulder to the swell of her breast and then stopped abruptly, raking his fingers down her midsection as he kneeled in front of her. She could see the back of his head as he brought his lips to her stomach, just above her waist line. She placed her hands on the top of his straw-colored hair, trying to guide him in the direction she wanted him to go, but he obstinately chose his own course. He next unfastened the clasp of her jeans and worked the zipper down, and she caught a glimpse of her own red underwear. Sawyer, of course, had chosen them out of the catalog. It wasn't a color she ever would have picked for herself. But they looked exotic and foreign and altogether perfect for this moment, so she didn't regret his choice.

After kissing in a line along the top of her jeans, he began to tug on the belt loops, pulling them down. She cooperated, and he slid them off first one leg and then the other. Starting at her bare feet, he ran his hands back up, and she drew in her breath sharply as he delicately cupped the space between her legs and pressed his thumb against her for just a fraction of a second before moving away. As he rose to stand in front of her, she tried once again to pull him down to her face, to feel his lips against hers, but again he dodged her, leaning down to kiss the tops of her breasts instead. She sighed shakily in frustration. He knew _exactly _what he was doing to her.

Working faster now, to her relief, he removed the bra and underwear with smooth, polished technique. She was now acutely conscious of her own state of arousal, and she was positive he couldn't fail to notice it either. The knowledge brought a faint flush to her cheeks, and she carefully avoided looking into the mirror.

But he wasn't going to let her get away with it. Moving back behind her, he gripped her lightly around the waist and bent his head to whisper into her ear again. "_Look up_," he instructed. He was pressed so closely against her that she could feel the fabric of his jeans rubbing against her skin. He was still completely clothed, while she was wearing absolutely nothing, a situation she didn't consider exactly fair. But then why was it also so thrilling and seductive?

With reluctance, she slowly raised her eyes up, taking in her own complete image in the mirror. She rarely saw herself this way, and it was an odd sensation to view her own body through Sawyer's eyes. She could tell, even without looking closely, that her angles had softened since she'd left the island. In that remote place, and even before then, she'd never bothered to eat quite as much as she should have. She'd always been consumed with the stress of simply existing, of moving from one place to another, avoiding capture. That life had taken its toll on her body, but it had also endowed her with physical strength. Now her muscles were less pronounced, softer, which for the first time vaguely worried her. Also, her hips had more of a curve, not appearing as slim and boyish as they used to. Her breasts were a little fuller, and although her stomach was still trim and toned, she could detect, just above the dark patch at the cleft of her legs, a vague, almost imperceptible swelling. She looked away from it quickly.

Leaning back against Sawyer, she met his eyes in the glass. He was watching her closely, with a look that she wasn't quite sure how to interpret, but which unnerved her in its intensity. Tipping her chin back, he kissed the hollow of her throat, lingering on the throbbing of her pulse. She now shifted her gaze over to her own eyes. They peered back at her with an expression of fierce need that was both physical as well as something else indefinable. Suddenly, the eroticism of the scene threatened to tip toward a darker place, and she closed her eyes before that could happen, cutting her vision off from her own unfamiliar image. This had lasted long enough.

She turned toward Sawyer again, blindly reaching out for him, and this time he didn't try to stop her. As she kissed him, the wig worked itself loose, and she yanked it off impatiently. Her own hair spilled onto her shoulders, and he pulled back to examine her anew. "Even better," he said with a crooked smile. She worked at tugging his shirt over his head. Backing up toward the bed, she sat on the edge of it and frantically undid his belt buckle while he watched with something like amusement. Finally, to her relief, they were both in the same state of nudity.

But now he took control again, pressing her back against the bed and kneeling over her. She felt his hair tickling her stomach as he lavished more unnecessary attention up and down her body. With an impatient sense of needing to get even, she withheld the moans that she knew he wanted to hear. Her breathing became labored and jagged, and her hips, of their own accord, tried to rise up to meet him. He pushed them back down into the mattress and held them there.

After what seemed like an eternity, he allowed her to guide him into her. Her hips were so narrow that he filled her completely, and she arched her back a little in the effort to make more space. With excruciating slowness, he began to move in her. Rocking underneath him to increase his rhythm had absolutely no effect at all. He was doing this on purpose, and he clearly had no intention of letting her rush the conclusion.

Kate bit her lip to keep from crying out in rapturous exasperation. If this was a contest, he wasn't going to win that easily. But it was difficult. A fundamental aspect of her personality was that she didn't like to wait for things. She was accustomed to living impulsively, sometimes recklessly, but in situations where she always made sure she was in control. She was used to getting her own way, deciding her own agenda, and doing things at her own pace. During these moments with Sawyer, her fate was taken out of her hands. It was both infuriating and undeniably exciting at the same time.

Eventually, he must have grown tired of teasing her in this particular way, because in a deft move, he flipped her over on top of him and took her space against the pillow. _Now _maybe they could get somewhere, she thought with a sort of triumph. If she could set the speed, then they could be done with this in no time. Her body was desperate for release, and she knew she could quickly bring him to the same point, if he would just let her.

But she soon realized that these weren't his plans. Grasping her hips, he forced her to go slowly, using sheer physical strength to raise and lower her with the same maddening slowness he'd used in the previous position. _You've got to be kidding me,_ she thought to herself. Looking into his eyes, she was met with a challenging expression. She smiled a little, breathing hard, and answered his look with her own.

To be honest, though, she knew there was no competing with him in this regard. Sex was like a sport for Sawyer, something that he studied and trained for and took very seriously. It was where he was most in his element, where he performed naturally and with a kind of graceful perfection that was a pleasure to witness. She had suspected as much, even in the first few days of knowing him, but the reality of it still never failed to captivate her. No matter how much she teased him, or belittled him, or made him feel like an idiot, no matter how often she gained the upper hand in discussions or proved him wrong in arguments, this was something she hadn't yet discovered how to best him at. With a few rare exceptions, he took initial control every time they made love and held that advantage throughout, and it was impossible to wrest it away from him. For the most part, she had given up trying. This was the one thing that she was willing to accept his dominance in, and he had discovered this fact early on. It was strangely comforting, in a way, to be able to relax and enjoy the ride.

But right now, the ride, so to speak, was being enjoyed with no relaxing involved. She still straddled him, a fine sheen of sweat coating her skin. His fingers gripped her tightly, fighting against her efforts to increase the rhythm, and she marveled at his ability to be able to hold out for so long while she was aching with the need to finish this. Wasn't it traditionally supposed to be the other way around? She closed her eyes and concentrated on keeping her breathing steady, feeling with intoxication that her body had become a live wire, buzzing with sensation.

Finally, just when she thought she was going to scream if he kept this up, he flipped her again, pressing her back into the same spot she'd started out in. The sheets felt warm from the heat of his body. _Now what_? she wondered vaguely. This didn't fit any pattern she could recall. But then again, they hadn't formed many patterns. Sawyer was endlessly inventive, and sex with him was never quite the same twice. It wasn't only the locations and positions that varied, but the method as well. Sometimes he was so gentle it was like he was afraid he would break her, while at other times he was so rough it was almost more than she could take. This fell somewhere in between, but she couldn't remember him ever drawing it out to such an extent before. How long had it been now? She'd lost any sense of time.

He kept his hands moving on her, darting down to the space between them but then traveling back up when she got too close, keeping her incessantly on the brink but denying her the ultimate release. What he wanted, she knew, was for her to beg, but she gritted her teeth obstinately and refused to give in. Sometimes she did, but not this time. She was determined.

Her eyes were glazed over with need, his face just a few inches above hers. In spite of her intentions, her expression conveyed the words that she was unwilling to say, and Sawyer now looked victorious. Leaning over her, he covered her mouth, his tongue meeting hers, and she drew in her breath sharply through her nose as he finally began to thrust harder. The mattress set up a steady squeaking that reminded her, absurdly, of the windshield wipers earlier. At any other time, the sound would have embarrassed her enormously, but now she was past caring.

Pulling back again, he kept watching her, and she locked gazes with him. She never felt closer to him than she did at these moments, just before climax. It was oddly fitting that they did their best communicating then. Her breathing increased to panting, and she felt the hot puffs of his own breath on her face. Her entire existence whittled down to one sharp point of intention, the achievement of which was the only thing on earth that mattered. Everything else dropped away - the grief, and the terror, and the danger of her existence ceased to be real, if only for a few seconds.

Then she stopped breathing as the heat radiated out from the core of her in waves, reaching all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes in short, explosive pulses. Her muscles contracted around him, which was the cue that always triggered his own plummet over the edge. She watched his face as he went, all the macho posturing evaporating in his unavoidable relinquishment of control, and she had time to take satisfaction in knowing that she was the cause of that. Then she tilted her head back against the pillow until it was nearly upside down, angling herself up toward him, making a slightly choked, straining noise as she reached the peak. Other than this sound, they were both silent, the intensity being too powerful to require any vocal cries. He pressed down onto her as she pressed up against him, the two of them clenched together in a moment of bliss that was all too brief.

Kate experienced a few seconds of vertigo as her body gradually transitioned down from the heights, relaxing in stages as Sawyer grew heavier and more still on top of her. Their harsh, out-of-sync breathing tapered off, becoming quieter, and she closed her eyes as he nuzzled against her ear in exhaustion. She suddenly realized, with no emotion whatsoever, that they hadn't remembered to use a condom. Deep down she already suspected that it didn't matter.

She smiled a little now at the thought of what he had just put her though. "I'll get you back for that someday," she whispered to him warningly.

He leaned up and gave her a sly smile. "We'll see," was all he answered, as if he didn't believe her. She kissed him and then shivered slightly as the sweat cooled on her skin in the open air.

Reaching down to grab the cheap motel bedspread, she pulled it up and all the way over their heads, creating a dark, cave-like shelter that she had no immediate desire to leave.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm not completely certain whether this is going to end up being the beginning of Chapter 3, or _all _of it. I might just turn the next part into Ch. 4, since that would save each part from being so insanely long. However, it does cause this chapter to be a little uneventful and short (for me), but I can deal with that, as long as you guys can. ;)

Thank you so much for reviewing, guys! Check back soon for the next update - I doubt it'll be an entire week before I post the rest of this little "episode."

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**Chapter Three**

Kate was bored. She was also nervous, because it was starting to get light, but the boredom was so acute that it almost overwhelmed the nervousness. They'd only started driving an hour ago, because they'd made a drastic mistake and had fallen asleep under their makeshift tent at the motel, awakening only at 5:00 am. They had to be out of the room by noon, or they would have to pay for another night, something Sawyer refused to contemplate. So, scrapping their carefully laid plans to drive only when it was dark, they set out just as the sky was beginning to turn gray in the east.

Now the first rays of the sun were slanting into the truck on the right side, striking Kate's face and causing her to squint. They were out of the mountains by this time, in southern Kentucky, and the landscape was made up of gently rolling hills and widely spaced farms. Occasionally a true plantation house, complete with white columns and verandahs, could be seen set far back from the road. (Kate had earlier remarked on how Southern it all looked, but Sawyer had responded scornfully, saying, "It ain't _my _South." She'd taken this to mean that the mountains were the only part he wanted anything to do with, and had dropped the subject.)

But now, she was tired of looking out the window. Passive observation had never been an activity that could hold her interest for long, and there wasn't a great amount to see, anyway. The road they were on was one they could travel for another forty miles, so there was no need to keep her eyes glued to the atlas. Instead, she riffled through the glove compartment, finding there only the truck's registration and user's manual, three napkins from McDonald's, some fingernail clippers, a pair of sunglasses missing the lenses, a bottle of cheap cologne that was mercifully empty, and a few expired condoms. She cut her fingernails. She tried to get the radio to work, with no luck. She dusted off the dash with a handkerchief. She adjusted the sideview mirror. She played with the manual lock button on the door, lifting it up and down. _Lock, unlock. Lock, unlock. Lock, unlock._

"Jesus _Christ_!" Sawyer finally exploded. "Would you cut that out?"

She looked at him, startled.

"It's like ridin' with a damn six-year-old! You think you could hold _still _for five minutes?"

"Well, I'm sorry," she said defensively. "I'm not used to being a passenger like this. This is _not _how I usually travel. Isn't it my turn yet?"

"Your turn to _what_?"

"To drive," she said, looking at him like he was an idiot. "So far, you've done all the driving, and that's not really fair, is it? I mean, I never intended for you to be my _chauffeur_. I thought we'd take turns."

He shook his head slowly, with just a hint of a smile. "Forget it."

For some reason, this response infuriated her. "_Why_?"

"It just wouldn't work," he said, still with that same placid expression.

"Oh, I get it," she said sarcastically. "It's a macho thing, right? I'm a girl, so you don't want me to drive your big manly truck. Is that it?"

"No, that's _not _it," he said, annoyed now. "It's just that you wouldn't be able to do it... trust me."

"That's ridiculous! You know how many different vehicles I've driven in all the time I've spent on the run? Probably more than you've ever owned."

"Not like this one, you haven't."

"Oh, _please_. What is so special about a beat-up _1988 Ford Ranger_?" she asked with contempt. "You said yourself that it hasn't even been _running _for the last ten years."

"Hey, now! There's no need to hurt her feelings, is there?"

"_Her _feelings? Your truck is a _female_?" Kate started to laugh. "Oh, my God."

Sawyer looked offended at this. "Ain't anything I'd expect a woman to understand."

When Kate had regained her composure, she tried again. "Come on! Let me drive."

"I'm tellin' you, it's a bad idea."

"I'll keep playing with the lock," she threatened. When he didn't respond, she went back to her earlier pastime. _Lock, unlock. Lock, unlock. _She watched his profile as he grew more irritated.

"All _right_!" he finally gave in. Coming to a quick halt, he put the truck in park without cutting the engine. "You want to drive? Be my guest, Puddin'." With that, he climbed out.

"Sawyer!" she protested. "We're in the middle of the road!"

The only thing to do was to switch places with him, so she climbed out and circled around to the driver's side.

After fastening the seatbelt, she noticed a car coming up behind them, fast. She looked around for Sawyer, and noticed him a few feet away from the passenger side door, peeing in the ditch, in plain view of the road.

"_God_," Kate groaned through clenched teeth, putting her hand over her face in embarrassment as the car pulled up behind them, honked twice, and then swerved around in an angry fashion and continued on.

He got back in and slammed the door. She looked over at him, accusingly.

"_What_?" he demanded.

Sighing, she turned back to the front, examining things.

"The steering wheel is too high... How do I adjust it?"

"Well now, seein' as how you've driven so many different vehicles in your time, I'm sure you can figure that out." He sounded triumphant.

"Never mind," she said grimly. "I'll just leave it where it is."

As she attempted to shift into drive, the truck lurched in a jerky, spasmodic movement.

Sawyer whistled softly, as if he was witnessing a particularly awe-inspiring catfight. "Whooo.. She don't like you... I can tell already."

With exaggerated patience, Kate ignored him. She slowly picked up speed, the motion smoothing out a little, but in a way, he had been right - it was almost like the truck _knew _that Sawyer was no longer behind the wheel, and wasn't happy about it. She struggled to keep the tires from veering over onto the shoulder.

"Why is the steering so loose?" she asked tensely. "This thing isn't even safe to drive."

"She's gettin' pissed at you now," Sawyer told Kate, with a tone of regret.

"Would you stop acting like an idiot and help me?"

"Hey, it's all about the chemistry, sweet cheeks. You and the truck gotta have a connection. Otherwise, it's just never gonna work out between the two of you." He paused. "Kinda like you and me, right?" She could see him smiling at her teasingly out of the corner of her eye.

"Yeah, except the truck hasn't ever tried to get in my pants."

"Just give her time," Sawyer said in a funny voice. Kate laughed, in spite of herself.

After a moment, she asked, more seriously, "Why do you still have this thing, anyway? You must have been able to afford something better by now."

He waited a second before answering, enough to make her think that maybe he didn't want to talk about it. But he finally replied. "Was the first thing I ever bought with my own money, couple years after I dropped out. Money that I _earned_, not stole," he emphasized, glancing at her sharply.

"Doing what?" she asked, curious.

Now he really acted like he didn't want to say anything more. The silence stretched out while he stared out at the road, uncomfortably.

"Come _on_, Sawyer! I've told you everything about my past... every little detail. You think I ever did that for anybody else?"

He took a deep breath, and then muttered, reluctantly, "I was a _janitor_, all right?"

For a second, she wasn't sure what to say. "At... at an office?" she finally ventured.

"At a school," he corrected. Then, before she could ask what kind, he told her. "An elementary school."

Kate took a few seconds to digest the information, to savor it from every aspect, trying to decide how best to respond to it. The light of potential enjoyment radiated from her countenance. Sawyer waited, miserably.

She dragged the wheel sharply to the left again, and then said, in a tone of deep contemplation. "Wow... So, you were, like, the guy who came with the bucket of sawdust when somebody threw up?"

He sighed heavily. "Yeah.. I was _that _guy."

Kate waited again, drawing it out. Her face twitched dangerously, but she kept her features composed. "Did you, um... Did you have one of those blue shirts with your name stitched on the pocket? Because those are kind of sexy."

He rolled his eyes. "I can tell how much you're enjoyin' this, Freckles."

Now she bit the inside of her cheek, determined not to laugh. "Did the..." She stopped, cleared her throat in a supreme effort, and then tried again, speaking barely above a whisper. "Did the kids call you _Janitor James_?"

"How many more you got?" Sawyer demanded.

"That was the last one, I swear," she promised, and then allowed herself a few moments of mostly silent laughter.

Feeling guilty as soon as she'd calmed down, she glanced over at Sawyer's moody, sullen expression. "Hey." In a sincere, grateful voice, she told him, "Thank you for telling me that."

He looked a trifle forgiving, his face softening, but all he said was, "Watch the damn road."

Watching it didn't have much effect on her ability to navigate it, however, as the truck was determined to remind her. It was vibrating strangely now, making a rattling sound that was almost accusatory. Instead of veering toward the right, it started to veer toward the left, trying to cross the center dividing line.

With a sigh, Kate maneuvered the vehicle onto the gravel shoulder and stopped it, conceding defeat. "All right. I give up. She's clearly not into other women."

"What'd I try to tell you?"

"Trade me spots?" she asked, trying not to be disappointed.

They both got out and circled around. As they passed each other at the hood, Kate grabbed Sawyer's arm and swung him back toward her. Leaning up, she kissed him lightly, and then very briefly pressed her forehead to his chest, closing her eyes. Then they separated and continued on around without speaking.

Once inside, after she'd slammed her door and refastened her seatbelt, Kate looked over at him thoughtfully. "This thing is never gonna make it all the way to Canada."

"She'll make it," he said with proud confidence. He gently eased away from the shoulder and built up speed. There was no vibrating, no lurching, and no rattling. The truck ran as smoothly as if it were brand new.

Kate shook her head with disgust and glared at the hood. "_Bitch_," she muttered.

* * *

But as it turned out, Sawyer's confidence had been misplaced. Later in the afternoon, they both stood in front of the lifted hood watching smoke pour out with bewildered expressions. Kate kept a wary eye out for cars.

"You have any clue what it could be?" he asked her.

"What are you asking me for?"

"You said you knew everything about cars!"

"I said I knew how to _drive _them, not how to _fix _them. I'm not a mechanic, Sawyer!"

He looked back under the hood with disgust. "This never woulda happened if you hadn't tried to drive her."

Kate rolled her eyes but declined to respond. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the hood, in thought.

After a minute, she asked, "How did you fix it the first time?"

He looked at her blankly.

"It was broken down when I came to stay with you. But that night..." Her voice softened. "That night at the truck stop, it was working again. You never said how you got it running."

"I didn't. I was desperate, so I thought I'd give it a shot. And lucky for us, it started!" He angrily waved away some of the smoke, trying to see what he was looking at.

"Why were you desperate?" she asked in a quiet tone.

With his hands on the edge of the hood, leaning over it, he turned his head to give her a confused look. "_What_?"

"I thought you were just coming to give me money."

He looked like he'd been caught at something. "I _was_," he said, turning back to the engine.

She was silent for a second, thinking. "Would you have kept walking if I hadn't called you back?"

He laughed bitterly, as if the question was funny. "Yeah. What the hell else would I have done? Slung you over my shoulder like a caveman?"

"What if I hadn't?" she wondered aloud, gazing out over the fields that stretched from either side of the road. It sounded like she was talking to herself.

Sawyer looked at her, disturbed. "Tell you the truth, it's not really somethin' I like to think about."

She turned her eyes back to him and gave him a sad smile, but it didn't make him feel much better.

Then he looked up the road and raised his hand protectively to her arm. "Get back in the truck," he whispered.

She looked around and saw a station wagon creeping up slowly behind them. It occurred to her now, too late, that this would have been the perfect time for the stupid wig. She climbed back into the passenger side and located the gun, closing her hand around it just as a precaution. Waiting nervously, she looked out the window.

The station wagon came to a stop behind them, and a wiry old man in patched overalls got out. He slammed his door and walked toward Sawyer.

"Howdy!" he hollered. "You kids havin' some trouble?"

Kate relaxed a little. If he was calling them _kids_, he couldn't be that bad.

"Just crapped out on us at the top of that hill," Sawyer explained, trying to sound casual. "Don't know what the problem is."

Kate could hear the drawn-out silence as the man presumably examined the inner workings of the vehicle. "Right there's your problem," she finally heard him say. She assumed he was pointing at something. "Sucker's burnt clean through. That'll have to be replaced before you can pull outta here again." He moved around to the side a little so that Kate could now see him. "You folks from Tennessee?"

They hadn't managed to find any Kentucky license plates, which had worried Kate. Now her fears came racing back.

"No," she answered quickly, before Sawyer could get a chance to. She lowered the backpack with the gun back to the floorboard and stepped out of the cab. "From Michigan, actually. He won this truck from his brother in a poker game, and we were just taking it back home."

"Well," the man said reflectively. He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose with a honk, then looked into the cloth to see what he'd produced. Apparently satisfied, he replaced it in his pocket, then continued. "I'd say you didn't win much."

Sawyer looked annoyed, but didn't say anything.

"Auto parts store ain't open on Sunday," the man went on, as if he was thinking. "But I can get what you need in the morning, fix it for you. You get it done in town, those bastards'll rip you off. Should be a crime, what they charge." He considered, looking out over the brown fields. "If you buy the part, I'll do it for nothin'."

"You don't have to do that," Kate protested.

"Hell, I don't mind," he said as if he meant it. "Ever since I had my heart attack, the old woman won't let me do much of anything at all. Gettin' under the hood of a car's one of the few things I got left. That, and taking care of the horses. But I got a suspicion she's about to put that on the forbidden list too, if I'm not careful." He winked at Kate conspiratorially, and she couldn't help smiling back.

"So you're saying there's no way to get it fixed today?" Sawyer asked him.

"Not unless you know of someone who's got the part," the man said.

"No," Sawyer said, looking defeated.

"You two have family around here? Some place to stay?"

Sawyer and Kate looked at each other, not sure what to answer.

"No," Kate finally said. "We're just passing through."

"Well, you're welcome to put up here for the night. We got plenty of room, now that the kids are all grown up and gone. I know my wife would love the company... She gets a little lonely out here, sometimes."

"We couldn't ask you to do that," Kate said.

"Wouldn't be any trouble at all. Be kinda nice to have young folks around again."

She looked at Sawyer hard, wanting to know his opinion, whether he thought it was safe or not. Without saying anything, he gave her an almost imperceptible nod, which she took to mean that he thought they could trust the guy. She agreed.

She turned back to the old man. "We'd pay you, of course," she told him, accepting his offer with these words.

"Ehhh..." he made a gesture of disdain. "No need. Then again," he went on, thinking. "If you really want to do something, I could use some help with the horses. You know anything about stables?"

"A little," she told him, looking almost _excited_. Sawyer groaned inwardly. If she was going to lie to keep them out of danger, she could at least lie to get them out of _working _too, couldn't she? Was that too much to ask?

"All right, then," the man said with a friendly smile. "I guess we got ourselves a deal." He stuck out his hand to Kate. "Name's Cecil, by the way. Cecil Baird."

She shook his hand, realizing that she should now give _her _name. "Carrie," she blurted out. "And this is, um..." She looked at Sawyer, her mind suddenly frozen. The silence lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. She tried frantically to think of something, _anything_.

"Jack," she finally said, and then immediately winced, as if she couldn't believe what she'd done. Sawyer shot her a death glare.

Cecil didn't appear to notice anything out of the ordinary, however. He held his hand out to Sawyer and shook it. "Nice to meet you, Jack," he said casually.

"Likewise," Sawyer said, still looking threateningly at Kate.

"Well," Cecil said, with an air of finality. "Let me run on up to my neighbor's, and he can help us get this thing hauled up into the driveway. You don't want to leave it out here in the road all night. If you two want to take off across that field, you'll see the house once you get to the top."

"Thank you so much," Kate said. "We really appreciate this."

"Least I can do," he replied, going back to his car. "You just tell my wife I sent you... She'll get you somethin' to eat." He started the car and edged past them, further on down the hill and around a curve.

Kate looked at Sawyer, biting her lip. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"_Jack_?" he said loudly.

"I panicked, okay? My mind went completely blank! It was the only name I could think of!"

He shook his head. "Unbelievable," he muttered.

"We should have planned this out beforehand... The names, I mean." She grabbed her backpack and made sure both guns were in it, checking to see that nothing suspicious was being left behind in the truck. Then she started to walk, stepping up out of the ditch and heading into the field Cecil had indicated. Sawyer followed reluctantly, still pissed.

"I notice you didn't have any trouble comin' up with _yours_," he said.

"That's because I've used that one before. I've never had to make up one for somebody else."

"Yeah, well.. sorry to be such an _inconvenience_." He trudged along in his loping gait, kicking rocks out of the way.

"Would you stop feeling sorry for yourself? It could have been worse, you know," she said with a mischievous look. "I could have called you _Charlie_."

He didn't seem amused.

Kate shoved his arm playfully in an attempt to lighten him up. "You like horses?" she asked.

"No," he said scornfully.

She sighed, giving up on him. Within a few more paces, they reached the top of the hill. The house lay down below them, in a slight valley. It was a two-story, white frame L-shaped farmhouse. It was shaded by heavy overhanging oaks and elms, with numerous outbuildings, painted red, spread out around it. Nothing fancy, but the place looked solid and well cared for.

Kate suddenly looked uncertain. "Do you think..." she hesitated. "Do you think this is a bad idea?"

He looked over at her, and his sulky demeanor immediately evaporated.

"It'll be fine," he assured her. "We'll be gone by tomorrow morning. In a week they won't even remember we were here."

She nodded slightly. "Okay."

He could see the relief she felt, caused by nothing more than his simple, meaningless words. The fact that he had that kind of influence made him both swell with pride and shrink with terror at the same time. Christ, she really _believed _him when he said stuff like that. Was that smart of her? He had to fight the overpowering urge to brush her hair back out of her face... to pull her against him... to kiss her... to do _something _physical. All of a sudden he just wanted to touch her. But with the mood he'd been in all day, it would seem bizarrely contradictory, wouldn't it?

He settled for taking her hand, instead. They started to walk toward the house.


	4. Chapter 4

I decided to add this as Chapter 4, rather than putting it with Ch. 3 and confusing everybody. ;)

Oh, and to answer a question that I forgot last update.. **Spinx**: I like your theme park idea, but do you mind if it's a seedy, run-down carnival instead? Lol...

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**Chapter Four**

Kate lifted the shovel in a steady rhythm, scooping up clods of horse manure and soiled hay, dropping the material into the waiting wheelbarrow, just outside the stall. It looked like this job hadn't been done in a while, and she wanted to get as much accomplished as she could in the short time they would be here. The old couple obviously needed help taking care of the place, and they were probably too stubborn to admit it.

Upon leading the two of them into the barn, Cecil had explained that these were retired racehorses, although "not the kind that had ever won many races." Kate could see why, after leading them one by one out into the paddock. They were overweight, overfed, overloved, and obviously very happy. All, that is, except for one, in a stall set apart from the others, which Cecil had warned them not to bother about. "That one's a bit of a loner," he'd explained before he'd left them. "Just give him his space."

The physical exercise was a relief to Kate - it felt wonderful to stretch her cramped muscles, and she put more exertion into lifting the shovel than she really needed to. It was unusually warm for early November, and the amber late-afternoon sunlight slanted into the barn from the propped-open double doors, dust motes floating in the rays. The scene was relaxing, and almost peaceful, in a way. It reminded her of happier times.

There was one thing, however, that kept it from being _entirely _peaceful. And that was the distraction posed by Sawyer. She'd forgotten how much she liked to watch him work. He was mucking out a stall down the row from hers, and every time he turned away, she let her eyes drift over to him. He was wearing just a t-shirt now, and when he bent to use the shovel, she could actually see his muscles move underneath the fabric. When he turned back, she quickly looked down again at her own shovel. Then she stole another glance as he went back to work.

She was under the impression that she was being very covert and undercover with these stolen glances. But apparently not covert enough. His question came out of nowhere, catching her off-guard.

"You want me to take my shirt off, Freckles?"

"What?" She tried to sound confused.

"Thought it might help you out a little... You wouldn't have to strain your X-ray vision so much, and then maybe you could get some work done." He turned toward her with a knowing grin.

She considered playing dumb, but a smile escaped her without warning. She glanced down at the ground again, and then raised her eyes back to him, her expression admitting that he'd caught her. "Thanks for the offer. But I'm fine."

He smiled as if he didn't believe her and went back to shoveling. She did the same.

After a few seconds, she went on, in a considering tone of voice. "On the other hand, if you felt like you _needed _to take it off... I wouldn't try to stop you."

"Ahhh... The truth comes out," he said, leaning against the side of the stall and regarding her with a lopsided smile of conquest. "Tell you what," he said, like he was in the mood to make a deal. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"You want me to shovel manure _topless_? I think that might be a little hard to explain to a 75-year-old farmer, don't you?"

"Hell, I bet he wouldn't mind. Probably be the best thing he's seen in 20 years."

Kate laughed. She was glad Sawyer appeared to be in a better mood than he had been earlier. She knew he hadn't been crazy about the idea of doing this, but he was at least trying to make the best of it.

"How about we save the topless stuff for later, and just get this finished?"

"You're the boss," Sawyer conceded, with exaggerated weariness.

They kept working down the row toward each other until they were in neighboring stalls, only the wooden border rail separating them.

She noticed that he was breathing heavily, and that there was a pool of sweat just below the neckline of the t-shirt.

"Hm," she said, as if she was mildly surprised at something.

He looked at her curiously. "What?"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were out of shape."

He stared at her incredulously. "_Out of_...? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," she shrugged. This was fun. "It's only natural. I mean, after being cooped up in the house so long, and then driving for hours at a stretch. It's not like you've had a lot of opportunity to work out these past few months."

"_Work out_," he echoed with scorn. "No offense, but I ain't really the _working out _type."

"Oh, so you're telling me this is all natural?" she asked with raised eyebrows, gesturing toward his chest and biceps.

"What can I say, I guess I was just blessed."

"Yeah, right," she said, rolling her eyes and smiling. She didn't believe that for a second. She knew he just didn't want to admit how hard he had to work to look like that. Lifting the shovel again, she dropped another pile onto the wheelbarrow.

Sawyer stood still, watching her, apparently in thought. "Out of shape," he muttered. "So she thinks I'm outta shape." He paused. "All right, then. If I'm so outta shape, could I still do this?"

Before she even had a chance to look at him, he'd reached over the side of the stall and lifted her above it. Knocking her feet out from under her with one arm, he swung her up over his shoulder and moved out into the barn area. The ground whirled by dizzyingly underneath her, and she laughed in screams, shutting her eyes tight. "Sawyer! Put me down!"

"Sure would be a pity if I dropped you, what with how puny I am these days," he called up to her. With a tight, unyielding grip on her, he continued to spin her around, and she pounded on his back with her fist, weak from laughter. "I take it back! You're not out of shape! Put me _down_!"

He dropped her gently on her back into a pile of clean hay on the opposite side of the barn. It took a few seconds before the world stopped spinning. She finally opened her eyes to see him hovering over her, looking a little worried. She smiled reassuringly. "We should do that more often."

He smiled a little too, and she pulled him down to kiss her. Running her hands along his back, she could feel the solid, rippling evidence of exactly how "_in shape_" he still was. Sometimes it was nice to be wrong.

Suddenly, a sharp, cracking boom just above their heads made both of them jerk in terror.

"_Jesus_!" Sawyer gasped, jumping back and pulling Kate with him.

They looked up to see the black, angry eyes of a horse glaring down at them over the rail of wood. Apparently they'd been leaning up against the stall of the "loner" without knowing it. While they'd worked, it had been sulking back in the far corner, quiet. But they'd disturbed it. Now it bucked again, knocking its hooves violently against the front of the stall, as if warning them to back off. It breathed heavily, furiously.

With deliberate slowness, Kate stood up, brushing her pants off. She moved toward the horse with fascination as it snorted again and rocked back on its heels. In a flash, she'd reached out and gripped the cheek strap of the harness. It started to rear up again, but she held the strap firmly in her hand.

Sawyer looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "What the hell you think you're _doin'_? He said not to mess with that one!"

"It's fine," she muttered soothingly, but not as if she were talking to him. The horse shuffled, lifting his feet one at a time in a nervous pattern. He knickered low in his throat and showed his teeth, rolling his eyes around warily. Without any warning, Kate blew a stream of air from her mouth directly into the horse's nostrils. He seemed startled at first, but then snorted loudly and immediately calmed down, lowering his head toward her. She rubbed his nose, looking into his eyes like they shared some kind of secret.

"Where'd you learn how to do that?" Sawyer asked, sounding disturbed.

She glanced over at him. "I didn't," she said after a second. "I don't know anything about horses."

_Great_. Would she ever stop creeping him out like this? He moved closer, carefully, and the horse sidled nearer to Kate, as if he wasn't in the mood to make any more new friends today.

"Is there anything you don't know how to tame?" he wondered out loud, watching the way the horse nuzzled against her.

She smiled, like she thought the question was funny. "Well," she said. "I'm still working on _you_."

"Sweetheart, you got me out in some stranger's barn on a Sunday afternoon shovelin' horse shit _for free. _I'd say your job's pretty much done."

Laughing, she was getting ready to say something else when she suddenly stopped, looking back behind him with a troubled expression. The horse pricked its ears up and looked too, then pawed at the ground nervously.

What she saw at first badly confused her, because for a split second she thought she was looking in a mirror again, the same way she had been last night, with the wig on. But this reflection was wearing different clothes - a pink sweater, tight, flared jeans, and boots with a rim of pink fur. She was also paler, taller, and much curvier than Kate was. Not to mention about ten years younger. On closer inspection, it was only the hair that was the same - long, curly, and dark red. It clashed horribly with her pink attire, but this didn't seem to worry her. She stared hard at Kate and Sawyer.

"Hi," Kate said uncertainly. How long had the kid been in here?

"Hey," she responded in a sullen voice. She seemed to size Kate up quickly as a potential rival and enemy, in that quick, unhesitating way that teenage girls have. Her eyes lingered longer on Sawyer, but she didn't seem flirtatious so much as calculating and cunning. At the same time, though, she also looked scared, like she'd been backed into a corner and needed to fight her way out. Kate knew that look, a little too well. She couldn't be more than seventeen, she thought.

"That used to be my horse," the girl said abruptly. Her voice was sultry and scratchy, too scratchy for a teenager. She probably smoked.

"Oh?" Kate said, unsure how to respond.

"We had to sell it, though," she said. Her eyes were angry.

"I'm sorry," Kate said.

"Where'd you come from?" Sawyer asked her, with a slight annoyed edge in his voice. Kate knew he was worried about them being recognized.

"I live up the road," the girl said. She twisted a lock of hair and brought it to her lips, chewing on it idly, not meeting their eyes. "Cecil's giving my stepdad a beer. He pulled your truck up into the yard."

"Oh. Thank you," Kate said.

The girl shrugged. "I didn't help."

Kate had to smile a little at her honesty.

Just then, Cecil's wife Joanne, whom they'd met earlier, came through the big double doors, glancing around like she was looking for something. She noticed the girl.

"There you are, Casey. How do you slip away like that?"

The girl shrugged again, unapologetic.

"Well, I'm supposed to tell you that your dad is getting ready to leave."

"He's my _stepdad_," Casey said fiercely, her eyes shooting darts of rage.

"That's what I meant," Joanne said in a soft voice, as if she'd had this conversation before. She tried to lead the girl out, but Casey glanced back at Kate and Sawyer, somehow accusingly.

"Bye," Kate told her.

"See you around," she said after a long pause.

"_I hope not," _Sawyer muttered quietly when she was gone.

* * *

Joanne returned soon after to tell them that supper was on the table, and so they followed her in. This was the first time they'd been inside the farmhouse itself, and Kate stopped short in the kitchen. Its age and design reminded her, powerfully, of Sawyer's kitchen, and for a second she couldn't pinpoint the bizarre, stabbing ache that hit her when she noticed this. But then she understood what it must be. _Homesickness_. It was a feeling she'd experienced so rarely, she didn't even recognize it at first. Trying not to dwell on it, she went to wash her hands.

Joanne went to yell at Cecil from the door. "Get away from that damn truck, and come in here and eat! You want it to get cold?"

They heard him muttering something unpleasant, but he appeared soon after. He sat down to join them.

"Your brother didn't take very good care of that thing," he told them regretfully, hooking his thumb toward the window, and, presumably, the truck. "But I'll try to spruce it up a little while you're stuck here."

Sawyer looked annoyed, and Kate could see him fighting hard against the urge to say something nasty. She waited with bated breath, but was relieved when he settled for a simple "Thanks."

The meal was straight out of the fifties - pot roast, potatoes, boiled carrots, and thick slabs of homemade bread with butter. Kate wantonly abandoned her vegetarian diet, out of both politeness and a genuine appetite. She and Sawyer both filled their plates, appreciatively.

Joanne slapped her husband's wrist away as he reached for another slice of meat. He sighed, but retreated.

"So," she began in a conversational tone, looking at Kate and Sawyer, who she knew as Jack and Carrie. "I take it you two are newlyweds?"

Kate finished chewing, trying to think of what to say. They had to be careful about things like this, didn't they? Sawyer glanced at her, uncertainly.

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

Joanne leaned over and daintily picked a piece of hay out of Kate's hair, holding it up to show her with a knowing expression.

"Oh," Kate said, feeling her face redden. "We were just..." She trailed off, then started again in a less embarrassing track. "You're right, we are newlyweds. Only last month, in fact."

Joanne was pleased that she'd guessed correctly. But then she looked slightly confused, glancing down at their hands.

"But... you don't have rings?"

Kate's mind worked fast. "We still haven't gotten them back yet," she said, sounding impatient and annoyed. "Believe it or not, the manufacturer actually screwed them up _twice_. The first time they were the wrong size, the second time they weren't even the right _design_."

"Oh, that's terrible," Joanne said sympathetically.

"I know," Kate agreed. "But that's what we get from trying to order by catalog. We should have known better." She looked at Sawyer pointedly.

He felt something was required of him here. "Catalog was your idea," he threw in.

"Yeah, but only because I knew it would be cheaper, and that you wouldn't be willing to pay for anything nice from a _regular _jewelry store."

"Oh, my," Joanne said softly.

Sawyer stared at Kate hard. She bit her lip slightly, and he could tell she was having fun with this. She raised a glass of water to her lips.

"Did you and Jack have a nice wedding?" Joanne inquired.

Kate coughed, and some of the water went up her nose. Sawyer stabbed a chunk of pot roast vengefully, glaring at her.

Cecil looked concerned as Kate continued to sputter. "You want me to slap you on the back, hon?"

"That's okay," she whispered, her eyes watering. She waited a few seconds until she'd caught her breath. "We had a _very _nice wedding," she told Joanne, but with her eyes on Sawyer.

After a few seconds of thought, she went on. "Both of our families were there... everybody managed to make it. My sister was my maid of honor, and his sisters were my bridesmaids. His brother was the best man... We even got his little niece to be the flower girl. We had so many guests that we had to use the Presbyterian church, because it's bigger. And we're not even Presbyterian."

Sawyer stopped eating and listened to her.

"My parents thought they'd be late, because they had car trouble, but they made it in plenty of time. My mom cried so much she had these giant mascara stains all down her face. So did his. Both our moms had tire tracks from crying so much." Kate smiled softly. "My dad gave me away, and at first I didn't think he was going to sit back down. My mom had to drag him back to the seat. Remember?" she said to Sawyer.

"Yeah," he said quietly, watching her, fascinated. Joanne and Cecil were silent.

"Then, at the reception, his dad gave this toast... And I wish we'd had someone videotape it, because I know we'll never remember it. But it was so funny.. and beautiful. Even if he _had _been drinking too much," Kate added. "And we had our first dance... We'd been rehearsing it for months, but he still managed to screw up a few steps. It didn't matter though... I don't think anyone else noticed. And then everybody else came out to dance too, all our cousins and aunts and uncles and everybody. And when we left, his friends from college had taped condoms all over the car, and this really tacky _Just Married_ sign... Did you tell them they could do that to the car?" she suddenly asked Sawyer, as if she'd just thought of it.

He swallowed hard, looking only at her, like there was nothing else in the room. "That was their idea," he whispered. He was enraptured, listening to her weaving this story. She spoke with such conviction, as if all this had actually happened. He was almost tempted to believe it had. But there was something about her voice and her eyes as she talked that broke his heart.

"So _everybody _followed us in their cars, honking, until we finally lost them near the airport," she went on. "And we left for our honeymoon, in the Bahamas. It was this island.. almost completely deserted. I mean _really _deserted. It was so beautiful... And we got to stay for a _really _long time, too." She threw Sawyer a conspiratorial look. "And when we got back, our parents had fixed up our house for us... We didn't even know they were going to do that. All new furniture, and appliances and everything... It was a complete surprise."

Joanne finally sighed, as if she was coming out of a trance. "Oh, that all sounds just wonderful."

"It really was," Kate agreed. "I mean, if someone was going to invent their own wedding, it's exactly the kind you would want to have." She gave Sawyer a tiny, meaningful smile.

Cecil looked bored. "Sounds like all that musta cost a fortune," he put in. He seemed to be addressing himself to Sawyer, man to man.

"Yeah," Sawyer agreed, gruffly. Then he looked back at Kate. "It was worth it, though."

"Of _course _it was," Joanne said, giving Cecil a threatening look. "After all, you only get married once. If you're lucky, that is."

Kate smiled sadly down at her plate.

Sawyer's food had gotten cold when he finally remembered to start eating again.

* * *

Kate helped Joanne do the dishes after the meal was over, while Cecil gave an irritated Sawyer a tour of his own truck, which Cecil still believed he had just recently acquired from his brother. Sawyer only pretended to be interested, but truth be told, he _did _learn a few things he'd had no clue about before.

When it was dark, they came inside, and Joanne invited Kate and Sawyer to join in their nightly card game. They pleaded extreme exhaustion, though, and were able to get out of it. Joanne showed them to the room at the back of the upstairs hall and pointed out the bathroom, and then left them. They heard her call out to her husband as she went down the stairs, "Don't you try to cheat me while I'm up here, you old weasel. You know I deal on Sundays!"

Kate and Sawyer stood in the doorway, looking into the room with funny expressions.

"I call top bunk," Kate finally said, trying not to laugh.

"What the hell was she thinking?" Sawyer muttered, gazing up at the beds.

"It's probably the only spare room they have." Kate moved in and closed the door, softly. "It's fine for one night. We're lucky they're letting us stay at all. I mean, we're complete strangers. They must be the most trusting people on the planet."

"Yeah, well," Sawyer said, flopping onto his back on the bottom bunk and stretching out a little. He kicked his shoes off. "What's not to trust about Mr. and Mrs. _Just Married_? With their Presbyterian wedding and their honeymoon in the Bahamas?" He sounded like a Southern radio announcer.

She smiled at him slyly. "That was pretty good, wasn't it?"

"How the hell do you come up with that shit off the top of your head?"

"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "It's like it's already there, somehow. I just have to say it, to make it real."

"Except it's not," he said quietly.

"No," she agreed. "It's not." They didn't say anything for a second.

"Can you believe she thought we were _newlyweds_?" Kate finally asked, incredulously, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Sawyer smiled a little, and then thought for a second. "Well, hell, maybe we oughtta just get hitched, and prove her right."

"Yeah," Kate said, laughing and looking away.

There was no response. She turned back to Sawyer, quizzically. He was still looking at her, not laughing.

"You're joking, right?"

He finally looked away, tiredly. He seemed hurt, somehow. "Yeah," he said. "'Course I was."

But her heart gave a sickening lurch. Because she suddenly realized that he _hadn't _been. Not completely.

"Sawyer," she said slowly, carefully. "You have to know that that's _insane_." She stared at him like he'd suddenly turned into somebody else, some crazy person that she didn't know.

"What's so insane about it?"

"Well, for one thing..." She paused. "For one thing, we wouldn't even be able to use our real identities. They could track us down by a marriage license. We'd have to use fake names... It wouldn't even be _real_."

"It'd be real enough for me," he said quietly, bitterly.

Kate felt something inside her start to break to pieces. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't really _mean _this, could he? What the hell was he doing this for?

"I don't understand," she said. "Where is this coming from? Is it because of what I said down there? Because that was just a joke... It was supposed to be _funny_."

"Like hell it was," he said savagely. "You think I don't know you well enough to see through that?"

She looked down at her hands.

"Wasn't nothin' _funny _about it, and you know it."

She was quiet for a minute, thinking. "Your proposal style could use a little work, you know." She was trying to lighten things up, to get this conversation back on ground they were both familiar with, but it wasn't working. He didn't reply.

Kate felt a rising tide of panic, and she grasped at the only argument she could think of, although it sounded absurd, even to her own ears. "It wouldn't make any difference, anyway, would it? We're already together every second of the day, practically. How would it change anything?"

He looked away from her and shook his head, with a slight, contemptuous smile as if this was too ridiculous to even respond to. Instead, he pulled himself up and started to put his shoes back on.

"We haven't even really known each other that long," she tried again. This time she got his attention. He looked around at her, disbelieving, and she knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. They stared at each other, both knowing how stupid the remark had been. Because they both knew the amount of time meant nothing. Neither one of them had ever known someone else so _intimately _before, so completely and without limits. She finally broke their gaze, turning her head away in regret.

Sawyer slowly went back to tying his shoes.

"Sawyer," she said tearfully, feeling the need to try to atone for that last comment. "I've done the marriage thing before. You know how that turned out. I'm just..." She stopped. "I'm just not sure if I can do it again. And _you_... I mean..." she trailed off, uncertainly.

"What _about _me?"

"I just meant that... You don't really seem like... the marrying _type_."

She tried to speak carefully, but it was all wrong. She hadn't meant for that to sound the way it did. But it was true, wasn't it? This was _Sawyer _she was talking about.

He finished lacing his shoes and stood up, facing her. His eyes lingered sadly on her stomach, which she tried not to notice. He met her eyes.

"What the hell are you so afraid of?" he asked hoarsely.

She didn't know how to answer. "I'm not afraid of anything," she said defensively, like she was trying to convince herself as well.

He nodded once, with a bitter smile, and then looked away. "_Yeah_. Well, don't worry about it, sweet cheeks. After all, I was just joking, right? Maybe you should learn not to take everything I say so seriously." He paused. "Besides, you're right, anyway. I certainly ain't the _marryin' type_." His voice was wounded, no matter how tough he wanted it to sound, and she swallowed hard, trying to prevent tears from flowing.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He grabbed a package of cigarettes from the front section of one of the duffel bags, and then stood up, heading toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Out for some air. Like you said, we're together every second of the day. Probably about time for a little breather, don't you think?" He sounded sarcastic now, but she refused to take the bait. She was hurting just as much as he was.

She nodded, without looking at him. "Okay."

He didn't leave right away, though, and she knew he was still staring at her. She finally raised her head up. Her breath caught in her throat, looking at him. They could still take back everything they'd just said, they could still do it over, say the right words this time, the normal words, the words that any two people in love _should _have used for this occasion... There was still time, if just one of them would be brave enough to seize hold of the moment and force the issue.

But neither of them were.

"Don't wait up," Sawyer said. He closed the softly behind him.

She sat there without moving, and then slowly leaned back on the bottom bunk. In the silence that followed, she could hear Cecil and Joanne playing cards below her in the kitchen.

"Don't you even try it!" Joanne said in delighted outrage. "I know you've got an ace in there... You think I don't know you better than that after fifty years?"

Then Cecil laughed good-naturedly. "Had to give it a shot, didn't I?"

Kate shut her eyes tightly and buried her head in the pillow.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you so much, everybody! I really wasn't sure how the whole marriage conversation thing would go over, but I've been in an unusually sappy mood lately.. Lol. Although with Kate and Sawyer, sap always counteracts itself, luckily. ;)

**agentalana**: If you knew how many drafts of the reunion scene I've composed in my head, you'd think I was mentally ill. Lol... I don't think I could ever settle on just one to actually write. Thank God we don't have to wait too much longer for the real thing (hopefully).

**ktgymchick**: You asked what I do for work... Actually, I'm still a college student, but I work part time at a local history museum - quilts and dresses and daguerreotypes and things. ;) I know without a doubt that I want to write for a living, though... someday. I just hope I'll have a job that gives me enough time to get started. Thanks so much for the encouragement, though!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Kate knew, even before she opened her eyes, that she'd slept too late. True to her word, she'd taken the top bunk - not just because there wasn't room for both of them in one bed, but also because she thought it might be a good idea to give Sawyer his space. She'd spent the first few hours dozing fitfully, battling bizarre dreams, unable to relax until she heard him come back in and collapse onto the bed below hers. Then she'd settled into a deeper sleep, which she now emerged from with difficulty. There was no clock in the room, but she could tell by the sunlight that it was near 9:00 a.m.

She leaned over the edge, checking to see if Sawyer had overslept, too. But as she'd suspected, he was already up - leaving the bed rumpled and unmade, of course. She sighed in disappointment. Now they wouldn't have a chance to talk alone until they were on their way, driving. He'd probably planned it that way, in order to avoid her. Although she couldn't help feeling a subdued amusement that he'd been forced to spend the night on Ninja Turtle sheets. Hers were Strawberry Shortcake. Apparently, they'd been given the grandkids' room.

After fighting a momentary dizziness from sitting up too fast, she climbed down the ladder of the bunk bed. Before she could dig through her bag for some clothes, she caught a glimpse of movement out the window. Pulling back the curtain, she blinked in the bright sunlight and waited for her eyes to adjust. In the yard below, the truck was parked. Cecil, Sawyer, and another man in his mid to late forties who she assumed was the neighbor were standing contemplatively around the open hood. Every once in awhile, one reached in and tinkered with something. Then they all stood back and looked again, thoughtfully.

Kate had to smile a little. For some reason, it reminded her of watching Sawyer work on the raft with Michael and Jin. She felt a strange sense of relief when he got along with other people, like part of the burden was lifted off of her. He'd been such a loner at first, hating everybody and doing his best to make everybody hate him. Something had changed him, though, even if only to a slight degree. Part of it was the island, and the circumstances of their lives there. But she also knew that part of it was her, and that scared her, somehow. She didn't necessarily _want _to be the catalyst for anybody else's progress. That way led toward dependency, and judging by their conversation of last night, he was already getting to a point where he was okay with that. She knew how dangerous it was for him to put so much stock in a future with her. More than anything, she dreaded hurting him.

Almost as if he could sense her thoughts, he turned his head and glanced up at the window, casually, shading his eyes against the glare. Catching sight of her there, he froze. She raised her hand slightly in greeting and tried to read his expression, to detect his mood. It was too hard to tell from a distance, but she thought he looked, above all, sad. They continued to stare at each other until the other men turned to see what had caught Sawyer's attention. Kate realized she'd only been wearing a short t-shirt to sleep in, so she discreetly let the curtain fall back and stepped away from the window.

After she'd showered and dressed, she repacked their bags, noticing in the process that the wig wasn't there. They must have left it at the motel. _Great_, she thought. _Just one more thing for Sawyer to be annoyed about_.

When she was done, she went downstairs and slipped out through a side door. The men were all still standing in basically the same places they'd occupied earlier, as if the inner workings of the truck posed some kind of mathematical enigma that they could figure out if they just concentrated on it long enough. Kate approached almost shyly, arms crossed in front of her.

"Mornin'!" Cecil hollered out, noticing her. "We're just about to finish up here." The other two turned.

"Can I help with anything?" she asked as she reached them.

"Seems like that's a question you oughtta be askin' in the kitchen, darlin'," said the neighbor. Kate turned her attention to him, looking him over with disgust. He was pudgy and thick in all the wrong places, with what could only be described as _jowls _hanging from his face. His eyes were a pale, watery blue, and they bulged unbecomingly in his head. He wore a dirty trucker hat over his thinning, greasy hair.

"Yeah, well, I'm not really much of a _cook_," she said coldly.

He spat a stream of tobacco juice in her general direction, without ever taking his leering gaze off of her. It landed in the dust a few feet in front of her shoes. "I bet you're good at other things, though," he muttered, winking at her.

Before she had a chance to respond, Sawyer cut in. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" he asked in a low, threatening voice.

The man slowly transferred his gaze to Sawyer, smiling calmly. "Nothin'. Just a compliment, is all."

"You wanna look at her like that again, bub?" He took a step toward him, his eyes shining with that dangerous light Kate recognized all too well. His accent had also become thicker, suddenly.

"Hey," she said quietly, trying to distract him. "It's okay." She had to remind herself not to use his name. He looked like he could easily spring at the guy without another second's notice.

Cecil looked embarrassed about all this. "Christ, Jed, can't you just keep your damn mouth shut? You always got to make such a good first impression?"

"Well, hell, I ain't even been introduced, yet," Jed whined, still with that unflappable smile that had something sinister lurking in it. He wiped his hand on his filthy Wranglers and held it out toward Kate over the hood of the truck. "Name's Jed White. What's yours, sweetheart?"

She regarded his arm warily, as if it were a snake. Without even realizing what she did, she moved incrementally closer to Sawyer. He rested his hand lightly on the small of her back, and she could sense that his rage was near the boiling point.

Luckily, Joanne chose just this moment to open the kitchen door and call out to them that breakfast was ready. Kate was spared the pleasure of making Jed's official introduction, and as she turned toward the house, she pulled Sawyer's arm, coercing him into following her and cutting short the unpleasant scene that was taking place.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were here, Jed," Joanne said in a funny, flat voice. "I'm afraid there won't be enough. I'm sorry." She didn't _sound _sorry, however.

"Well, don't you worry about that, ma'am. I got to be gettin' on back, anyway," he said ingratiatingly. "You see that daughter of mine, send her on home, you hear?"

"I will," Joanne said with a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes. As they neared the door, she gave Cecil an accusatory look.

"I didn't _invite _him," he whispered in a defensive tone. "Bastard justshowed up."

The meal passed mostly in silence. Kate was feeling slightly queasy, and she didn't have much appetite. She no longer had the heart to narrate their fictional married life, and there was an awkward barrier between Sawyer and herself, made even worse by the presence of the older couple. Joanne seemed to sense this, and didn't press them to talk.

After they'd finished eating, Sawyer drew her aside and asked her quietly, "'Bout ready to go?"

"Everything's packed and waiting," she told him. "We just need to bring the stuff downstairs."

"I'll get it," he said. Without another word, he left her standing there. She sighed and turned back toward the kitchen.

When Joanne noticed him carrying the bags down, she said regretfully, "You have to go so soon?"

"We still have a long way to travel," Kate said. She realized that this was probably the only truthful comment she'd made to these people since they'd been here. "But I can't tell you how much we appreciate all this... I don't know what we would have done if it wasn't for your help."

"No problem at all," Cecil said. "I enjoyed gettin' my hands dirty for a change. And she oughtta get you up to Michigan now, at least," he said to Sawyer. "'Course, if I were you, I'd have her engine overhauled when you get settled in. She'd run all the better for it."

"Will do," Sawyer said in agreement.

Kate noticed wryly that Cecil had also slipped into the habit of referring to the stupid truck in the female gender. Was it just a _guy _thing? she wondered.

"It was so nice to have company again," Joanne chirped. She handed them a paper bag, explaining, "I made you some lunch, too, so you don't have to stop at one of those hideous fast food places."

"You didn't have to do that!" Kate protested.

"Nonsense," Joanne waved away her gratitude. "That stuff'll kill you, you know."

She looked so earnest that Kate had to smile.

They all went outside and Sawyer loaded the bags up, shook Cecil's hand after he'd given some last minute mechanic advice, and then climbed into the driver's seat. She could tell he was anxious to get moving.

Before she got in to go, Kate said, "Thank you again, so much."

To her surprise, Joanne pulled her into a bosomy hug. She smelled like pancake batter and vanilla.

"Don't worry, honey," she whispered over her shoulder. "It'll blow over, whatever it is. Men just like to have their little _pouts _sometimes."

_If only it were that simple_, Kate thought, pulling back. But she was grateful for the advice, all the same. She'd so rarely had kind words from other women. Looking into Joanne's sympathetic eyes, she was strongly reminded of Sun. Sun had been the only one who'd bothered to say goodbye on the beach, pushing stubbornly past the federal agents to give Kate an awkward embrace, even though she'd already been handcuffed.

Kate nodded slightly in response to Joanne's words. "I know."

She turned away and finally climbed into the truck. Cecil shut her door for her.

"You and Jack drive carefully!" Joanne called out as Sawyer started the motor.

"We will," Kate called back, mentally kicking herself yet again for not thinking of a better name.

As they headed down the driveway, she could see the two of them in the rearview mirror, still standing in the yard. They both waved regretfully, but Kate had her suspicions that Cecil was actually waving at the truck, not them.

"I left some money for them, upstairs," she said to Sawyer. "I just want you to know, so you don't get pissed when you notice it's missing."

"Where'd you leave it?" he asked.

"Under the vase on the dresser."

He was quiet for a few seconds. "I left some on the nightstand," he finally muttered.

Kate smiled at him a little but didn't say anything, and then slowly turned back to face the front as they pulled out onto the highway again.

* * *

They drove in silence for a while, and he could tell that she was trying to find the right moment to broach the subject. He wasn't about to help her out with it, though.

She finally took a deep breath. "So..." She paused. "Do we talk about it, or not?"

"Don't see any reason to," he answered. "You got anything new to say?"

She considered. "Just that I'm sorry," she almost whispered.

"Already said that," he said in a sarcastically upbeat tone. "So I guess it ain't really _new_, now, is it?"

"Sawyer..." she said in an effort at patience, closing her eyes briefly.

"Look," he said, losing the sarcasm. "How 'bout we just pretend the whole thing didn't even happen, all right? Let's just say that it's yesterday all over again, and we'll just start over and avoid the entire mess. Sound good to you?"

She was quiet for a second. "Fine," she said sadly. "If that's what you want to do."

"That's what I want to do," he echoed her.

They lapsed into a strained silence, and it was painfully obvious that things couldn't be exactly like they were yesterday. Kate made an effort to get their interaction back on a normal footing.

"I had some really crazy dreams last night."

"Yeah?" Sawyer asked, trying to help her along.

"Yeah. In one, we were back on the island, again."

"If I had a dream like that, I'd be tryin' to wake up as fast as I could." He paused. "So what happened? Anything good?"

"Everything was pretty much the same. Except that Claire's baby was a girl instead of a boy." She thought for a second. "Oh, and Greg was there."

Sawyer shot her a sideways glance. "You're just makin' this up."

"I'm not either! He kept trying to sell pot to everybody," Kate added.

"Anybody buy it?" Sawyer asked, curious in spite of himself.

"Yeah," she said, making a strange face. "_Locke _did, actually."

Sawyer smiled and shook his head in amusement. "Now _there's _somebody I'd like to see stoned."

Kate laughed a little.

"So who else was there?" he asked in a careful tone.

"You mean like... _Jack_, for instance?" she asked slyly.

"Well, I'm guessin' you couldn't have a dream about the island without the good doctor makin' a cameo, could you? After all, I'm sure he wouldn't want to pass up a shot to be center stage."

"Jack was there," she said, rolling her eyes. "But he was speaking _Korean_. I couldn't understand a thing he said. And I don't think he could understand me, either," she added, thoughtfully.

"Sounds about right," Sawyer muttered.

"Also, he was wearing a fireman's hat," Kate added. She wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "I'm not really sure what that was about."

Sawyer smiled. "And what was _I _wearin' in this dream of yours? Anything?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

She was quiet for a second, apparently in thought. "Huh," she finally said, sounding surprised.

"What?"

She looked at him. "It's funny... I didn't even realize it until just now, but I don't think you were there _at all_."

Now he looked annoyed. Turning back to the road, he said, "Well, don't that just figure. Can't say I'm really surprised."

"Oh, come _on_, Sawyer," she said wearily. "Don't do that. It was just a stupid dream! It doesn't mean anything."

"No! 'Course it don't!" he said in a fake chipper voice. "So why the hell should I mind that _Greg _was apparently important enough to be there, but not me?"

"Oh my God," Kate muttered under her breath. "I should have known better..."

"You know, dreams are supposed to be symbolic or somethin', right?" he asked, irritated. "They're supposed to tell you shit about yourself that you didn't know. Sounds like maybe you ought to start payin' closer attention to what they're tryin' to _say_, Freckles."

"Yeah, well I don't _believe _in that," she said. "I think they're just completely random. My other dream last night was about Donald Trump learning to water-ski. You want to look for some deeper meaning in that one?"

He shook his head bitterly and ignored her.

She sighed. "I never should have brought it up. You're _so _predictable."

Kate opened the atlas and examined it for a few minutes, then glanced ahead of them. "Turn left up here, at this next crossroads." She went back to the map.

Sawyer slowed the truck, but didn't turn.

"Go left," she repeated, not looking up.

When he still didn't move, she raised her eyes.

"This is where you want me to turn left?" he asked with sarcasm.

She leaned past him to look out his window. There was a line of cows, sticking their heads over a fence and chewing cud lazily, but no sign of a road. Out the window on _her _side, there was a turn-off, and the road they were on stretched ahead into the distance, but that was all. There was nothing that went left.

She looked back at the atlas again, confused. "I don't understand," she said softly. "There's supposed to be a road here. There _has _to be a road here."

"You want me to roll down the window so you can ask them directions?" He looked toward the cows. They flicked their tales and regarded the truck with mild interest.

Kate narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance. "Just go straight," she told him. "We'll take the next turning."

He picked up speed again, and she kept studying the map, tracing lines with her fingers. "It doesn't make any sense," she said to herself. "It's not like they would just _move _a road."

"Kinda brings up a good point, though," Sawyer said.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that we don't really know where the hell we're going."

"_I_ know where we're going," she said defensively.

"So you say, pumpkin," he replied. "But it sure don't seem like it at the moment."

"This is just a glitch on the map. We'll find another road that goes west."

"What I'm really wonderin' is, what happens when we get up there? The _Yukon_, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I'm assuming it's a pretty big chunk of land. So what do you suggest we do... just wander around and knock on caves until we find the right one?"

"It's not a _cave_," she said scornfully. "And of course we won't do that. When we get closer, we'll get in touch with your aunt and figure out the specific location of this place."

"And what happens if we can't reach her? Or what if we get to this place, and the guy won't let us stay? Or maybe the house'll be a junk heap, or we won't be able to stand the guy. What then?"

He noticed that she had her eyes closed as he recited this litany of doom. "I don't know," she said quietly, opening them again. "I guess we'll just have to worry about it when we get there. We have to take this one step at a time."

"Well, no offense, but I'm not really keen on the idea of livin' with some stranger. Even if he _does _decide to take pity on us. God knows what kind of nut job he'll be, if he's friends with Meg."

Kate swallowed hard. She looked pale. "You don't have to stay," she whispered.

The words alarmed him, but they also pissed him off for some reason. "Maybe I _won't_," he said.

She seemed to be trying to hold back tears. "Pull over," she said calmly.

"Why, you want to _walk _the rest of the way?"

"Sawyer, just... pull over, please?" she repeated.

"Look," he said roughly. "I didn't mean it to sound that way. I just think that maybe we oughtta..."

"Stop the truck, _now_!" she interrupted him desperately.

He suddenly realized that she was about to be sick. Cursing himself, he dragged the wheel to the right and quickly came to a stop on the shoulder.

She was out before the tires had even stopped spinning, her hand covering her mouth. She stumbled down a slight incline to a split rail fence that looked out over a drop, then leaned over it to throw up. This was apparently some sort of nature walk, or rest stop for tourists, or something of that sort. There were picnic tables to one side, although the place was luckily deserted on a Monday morning.

Sawyer stayed in the truck for a few minutes, giving her some time. He felt like the scum of the earth.

After she was done being sick, he saw her slide weakly down the fence to a sitting position, leaning against it. Grabbing a bottle of water, he got out and walked toward her. His guilt increased when he saw how miserable she looked.

He handed her the bottle, wordlessly, and looked down over the precipice while she swished some water in her mouth and spit it out on the ground. There was a winding gravel walkway that continued about twenty feet below. Kate had managed to throw up on some kind of memorial plaque.

"You got good aim," he said appreciatively, with a slight grin.

She took a tentative sip of the water. "You should probably stay back," she told him. "I don't want you to catch anything."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Kate," he said wearily, unable to help himself. "I'm pretty sure what you've got ain't _contagious_."

She looked at him sadly, like he'd betrayed her. Once again, he felt like he had. But the denial thing was getting a little tired, wasn't it? How long could she possibly keep it up? Until she started having labor pains?

"You need to see someone," he said quietly, the worry evident on his face. "Even if it's just one of those free clinics."

"I don't need to _see _anybody," she said angrily, starting to pull herself up. "I'm fine." Her legs were shaky as she stood, and it looked like they might not support her. She still looked weak and deathly pale.

He moved toward her to help her walk. She shoved his arms away. "Just leave me alone."

Stubbornly, he reached out for her again. Once again she tried to fight him off. "I don't need your help!"

"You don't think so?" he demanded. When he still refused to let go of her, she tried to jerk away from him, her eyes filled with bitter tears.

"Let _go _of me!"

She struggled futilely for a few seconds, while Sawyer held on. Then suddenly, in a barely noticeable transition, she wasn't fighting him anymore. Instead, she was leaning against him, the only sound that of choked, painful sobs. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, a look of torment on his face. He remained still for a moment, then pressed his lips to her shoulder, her neck, and then her cheek, which felt clammy and cool. Leaning back against the split rail fence, he supported her weight against his body and slowly rubbed her back until she grew more relaxed and calm.

Even though he knew it wasn't really the case, he still felt like this was all his fault. Last night, _and _this morning... it was all just because he couldn't learn when to keep his damn mouth shut.

When she'd stopped crying, she turned her head to the side and looked down at the view, still resting her cheek against his shoulder. Her hair was in one simple braid down her back, and a strand of it had come loose from the top and was blowing lightly against Sawyer's face in the breeze. He made no move to push it away. It felt wonderful.

Finally, she took a deep, shaky breath and let it out. Then she spoke in a sad, relinquishing tone of voice, as if she were just stating the inevitable.

"We'll never make it."

He didn't answer right away. To be honest, he didn't know whether she was referring to the two of them as a couple, or rather, the trip up to Canada. It could have been both, he supposed. Either way, he didn't really have much of a response. Maybe she was right.

"We made it this far," he said eventually. He tried to sound confident, instead of hesitant, but he didn't know how well he pulled it off.

She leaned back a little so that she could look up at him. She was still pale, but the color was starting to come back into her cheeks. Her face was wet with tears. She regarded him steadily, not saying anything. He tried to figure out what she was thinking.

"What I said earlier, about not stayin' up there with you," he began. "I didn't really mean that."

"I know you didn't," she said sadly. She didn't look nearly as relieved as he would have liked. Something about her eyes worried him.

He wanted to tell her how terrified he was of losing her, but the words stuck in his throat. He was perfectly able to say all kinds of inappropriate things that either hurt her or pissed her off, but apparently this one, the only thing that he really _wanted _to say - he wasn't capable of.

Before he could manage to get anything out, she leaned against him again, as if she were exhausted. Giving up on saying anything, he rested his chin on the top of her head. Although the wind was cool, her hair was warm from the sun beating down on it. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

They stayed like that for awhile, without moving or speaking. He wished they could have stayed even longer, but the sound of a car caused them both to look up. It slowed down to swerve around the truck, and the occupants looked out at Kate and Sawyer, curiously. Kate turned her head away, tensing up.

When the car had gone, she said in a serious voice, "I have to tell you something."

His heart skipped a beat. "What?"

She hesitated, chewing on the underside of her lip. She didn't meet his eyes. "I think we left the wig behind at the motel."

He let his breath out in irritated relief. "_That's _what you wanted to tell me?"

"We must have kicked it under the bed when we were... _busy _with other things," she said, blushing slightly.

"Well..." he said thoughtfully. "I can't say it wasn't worth it."

She smiled and nodded a little.

"I guess we'd better go."

"You think you'll be all right?" he asked.

"I think so. I doubt there's anything left in my stomach, anyway," she added.

With his arm around her, they walked slowly back toward the truck. He helped her in, something she appeared grateful for, now. Before going back around to his side, he glanced casually into the back, where their extra luggage was, the things they didn't need every day. He looked again, closer, at something poking out from the edge of an unrolled sleeping bag.

"I thought you said we left it," he said to Kate.

She looked around, confused.

Reaching down, he closed his hand around the coils of red hair and lifted. It was stuck on something. He pulled again, harder.

The sleeping bag moved, something stirring underneath it. Sawyer jerked his arm away, banging his elbow on the side of the truck bed. "Son-of-a..." he hissed in shock.

The corner of the sleeping bag was shoved back, and a girl sat up, blinking in the bright light and rubbing her head. "God," she said in an offended tone. "Do you _mind_?"

It was Casey, the teenager they'd encountered in the barn.

Kate got quickly back out of the cab and stood beside Sawyer. They both looked at each other, bewildered, and then stared back at the girl.

"Don't be mad, okay?" she said to them.

"What the hell are you doin' in the back of my _truck_!" Sawyer finally sputtered.

Casey stood up calmly and hopped over the side, landing with a thud on the gravel, not taking her eyes off of them. She looked at Kate.

"I know who you are. I know they're looking for you."

Sawyer put a hand out to steady Kate. She suddenly looked sick again, although not in a physical sense this time.

"It's okay, though!" Casey said hastily, in what she must have thought was a reassuring tone. "I'm not gonna, like, turn you in or anything. Not unless you make me."

"What do you want?" Kate asked in a low, careful voice.

With a determined set to her chin, she spoke. "I'm not ever going back home. _Ever_." She paused. "I want to come with you."

Sawyer still looked uncomprehending, and Kate shook her head slowly.

Casey looked from one to the other. Suddenly, her confidence left her. She seemed to be just a scared, lonely kid, unsure of herself.

She swallowed hard.

"_Please_?"


	6. Chapter 6

I'm sorry this update took so long to get here - and it was supposed to be 3 sections, but I just completely ran out of time today. Hopefully I'll be able to update again on Thursday, because the next section really does fit into this chapter... I'll try not to delay it too long. Thanks so much for letting me know you're reading, as always! I've given up my social life and my room is a mess - but it's worth it... ;)

* * *

**Chapter Six**

The silence seemed to stretch out forever. All three of them appeared to be waiting for somebody else to speak first. Kate looked at Sawyer, helplessly, and then back at Casey.

"You want to come _with us_?"

Casey nodded. "Uh-huh."

"You don't even know where we're going!"

"I don't care... Just as long as it's away from here."

"It ain't gonna happen, kid, so just forget about it," Sawyer said in a low, dangerous voice.

Casey glanced at him, but then turned her attention back to Kate, speaking only to her. "I'll help out, though... I swear! I mean, I don't have any money, but I can do other things. I'm a criminal, too!" she said earnestly.

"_You're _a criminal," Kate repeated with incredulity, her arms crossed in front of her.

"Yep! I've done lots of illegal stuff - I have a record and everything!"

"For _what_?" Sawyer asked with scorn. "Shopliftin' nail polish?"

Casey glared at him. "_No_. I mean, like, _really _bad stuff." She looked back at Kate. "Like, right now I'm suspended from school because I set my math teacher's toupee on fire. But that was actually an accident... You know, they should tell you not to smoke around those things... they're _really _flammable."

"You were smoking around your math teacher?" Kate asked, sounding tired.

"Yeah." Casey appeared to contemplate. "You know, if you think about it, _that's _the part I should be suspended for." She shook her head. "My school's so retarded."

Kate sighed. "Speaking of retarded? Hiding out in the back of a stranger's truck ranks pretty high up there. What were you thinking? You don't know anything about us!"

"I'm not afraid of you," Casey said.

"You're _not_," Kate echoed, without even bothering to put a question in her tone.

"Nope."

"And why is that?"

"Well, you didn't kill Cecil and Joanne. I figure, if you're gonna kill somebody, defenseless old people would be the way to go, right? So, if you didn't bother with them, why would you want to kill me?"

"I can think of a couple reasons," Sawyer muttered.

Casey looked over at him. "Well, I'm definitely not afraid of _you_," she said in a superior tone.

"Why the hell not?" he demanded.

"Because," Casey explained. "_She's _the dangerous one. You're just like... I don't know, the _sidekick_."

"The _sidekick_!" Sawyer looked at Kate as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you listenin' to this?"

"Would you just calm down?" Kate asked. "You're not really helping matters any."

"The _sidekick_," he muttered under his breath. He turned toward Casey. "Let's get one thing straight, Red. I figure it's in your best interest to know that I'm a hell of a lot more dangerous than she'll ever be. Might want to _keep that in mind_."

"Then how come I've never heard of you?"

Sawyer looked taken aback. He cocked his head slightly in an attitude of disbelief and looked at Kate. "She wants to know how come she's never _heard _of me!"

Kate pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Sawyer..." she said pleadingly.

He turned back to Casey. "Let's just say that I never had quite the publicity that your hero does here," he said sarcastically, gesturing toward Kate. "I like to stay a little more under the radar."

Casey rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I know a groupie when I see one. I just think you're trying to steal her thunder."

"Oh, you think so, do you?" Sawyer asked threateningly, moving toward Casey.

Kate moved between them, putting her hand on Sawyer's chest and shoving him backward. "That's enough! What the hell is the matter with you?" she asked in a low voice. "She's just a kid."

"I could take him," Casey said quietly. But she sounded upset.

Without turning around or breaking eye contact with Sawyer, Kate spoke. "Casey, could you give us a minute? Just wait over there by the picnic tables."

"You're not gonna try to take off and leave me here?"

"We're not going anywhere yet. We just need to talk about this alone."

Reluctantly, Casey dragged her feet over to the lookout area, out of earshot.

Kate continued to stare at Sawyer hard. He watched the girl's retreating figure and then looked back down at Kate.

"I wasn't gonna _hurt her_," he finally said in a sulky tone. He looked both pissed off and ashamed of himself.

"Why are you acting like this?"

"What do you mean, _why_? After everything we been through, it doesn't bother you that it could all hit the fan because Little Orphan Annie thinks she deserves a free ride?"

"Of course it bothers me! This could ruin everything... You think I don't know that? But what choice do we have? She said she would turn us in."

"She's _bluffing_," Sawyer said with scorn.

"Maybe so. But I'm not willing to put her to the test. Are you?"

"I can't believe _you _of all people are actually considering lettin' her come with us!"

"Not _for good_," Kate corrected him. "Just temporarily... until we figure out how to get rid of her."

"I got some ideas," Sawyer said darkly, casting a look of hatred over toward Casey.

Kate sighed again. She still felt weak from being sick earlier. Sawyer watched her lean back against the door of the truck. He felt bad about making this even worse for her, but he couldn't help running through all the angles.

In a quiet voice, he told her, "Once she gets reported missing, they're gonna be searchin' through the entire state with a fine-toothed comb. They catch her with us, that's a kidnapping charge!"

Kate laughed a little. "At this point, you honestly think it matters? You and I both know that if I go to prison, it's not gonna be for _kidnapping_, Sawyer."

"Probably not. But just having her with us means there's a greater chance of gettin' noticed by the cops, or by some do-gooder who decides to call one of those toll-free numbers from the back of the milk carton."

"I know all that. But I don't see any way around it. We have to take her with us, at least for tonight." She watched Casey looking over the fence a few yards off, leaning moodily out into the wind. There was something about the defiant look on her face and the way she had her arms wrapped around herself protectively that struck Kate with a horrible familiarity.

Sawyer stared at her intently. "You're not feelin' _sorry _for this girl, are you?"

She turned back to him. "You saw that guy this morning. You saw what she has to live with. Would you wish that on anybody?" She paused. "Maybe she really does need to get away from here."

He was impressed as always by her seemingly unlimited capacity for sympathy. "That's not our problem," he said, trying to reason with her.

Kate continued to regard him silently for a few seconds, then she turned her eyes back to the figure of the girl glaring out at the view.

"It is now," she said softly.

Sawyer breathed out heavily, giving up. When Casey looked over at them, Kate signaled for her to come back. She approached warily.

"God, you hate me, don't you?" she asked Kate.

"What?" she replied, confused.

"You totally hate me already, I can tell. I knew this would happen! Girls _always _hate me... And I know it's because they're jealous. I mean, is it my fault I have bigger boobs than you?"

Kate didn't know how to answer. "I... I didn't notice that, actually." She looked annoyed.

"You didn't?" Casey asked, surprised. "_He _did," she said, gesturing toward Sawyer.

"_What_!" Sawyer looked shocked. Kate raised her eyebrows at him. "She's insane!" he said defensively.

Kate turned back to Casey. "I'm not jealous of you. I'm a little upset that you're _blackmailing _me, but that's all."

"Really?" Casey asked uncertainly. "Because, like, this one time? This cheerleader named Harmony told me that I was trying to steal her boyfriend, because he kept staring at my rack... But, seriously, I didn't even know he was doing it! I mean, what was I supposed to do? Wear a trench coat? God, I hated that girl. _Harmony_. What the hell kind of name is _Harmony_, anyway? And she wasn't even a good cheerleader. She was shaped like a duck.

"Casey?" Kate said wearily.

"Yeah?"

"We need to get moving."

"So... you're gonna let me come with you?"

Kate looked at Sawyer again, who waited for her to make the final decision. "Looks like it," she said, turning back to the girl. "For now."

"Cool!" Casey said, smiling for the first time. "You won't regret it, I promise! I have all kinds of ideas for things we can do..." As she talked, she started to climb into the cab.

Sawyer interrupted her. "Where the hell you think you're goin'?"

"I'm getting in," she said, like it was obvious.

"Not up there, you're not. There ain't room for three people in the front. You want a ride, then you better just climb back there where you started out at. Beggars can't be choosers, sweetheart," he said with a sneer.

"Sawyer," Kate said.

"It's okay," Casey said to her, giving Sawyer an icy stare. "I don't mind the back. I like the _peace and quiet_," she said meaningfully.

Sawyer rolled his head back in disdain.

Casey climbed up over the tailgate and, without another word, disappeared back under the sleeping bag.

Kate and Sawyer looked at each other hopelessly for a few seconds, then got back in the front. The truck pulled away from the shoulder and back onto the empty highway.

* * *

They drove for the rest of the day, gradually traveling northwest, cutting across the corner of Kentucky, stopping only to fill up the gas tank and use the bathroom. In the early evening, Casey alarmed them both by pounding her fist on the back glass. Kate turned around to see what she wanted.

"Do you guys ever eat?" she called out in a whining voice.

Kate sighed. "She's right. We should stop."

The first place that looked suitable was a park, seemingly deserted at this time of day. They sat at a cluster of tables, hidden from view as much as possible. The tables were partitioned off by a brick wall which divided the eating area from the restrooms and playground area. Since it was already getting dark, the place appeared as safe as they could hope for.

Kate unpacked the bag that Joanne had sent with them. It was full of sandwiches, fried chicken, potato salad, chips, peach pie, and a thermos of iced tea. It would have been more than enough for six people, let alone three.

They didn't talk much as they ate. Casey in particular seemed to be famished. Kate felt guilty for not thinking to ask if she was hungry before now. It occurred to her that this was probably the first time the kid had eaten today.

"So why are you driving on these roads in the middle of nowhere?" Casey finally asked as her pace of shoveling in food began to slow. "Wouldn't the freeway be quicker?"

"It would be quicker," Kate agreed, taking a drink of tea. "But it wouldn't be safer."

"Why not?"

"Because that's where the state troopers and the highway patrol are. On the back roads, the most we have to worry about is a local sheriff, or maybe some city cops. And they aren't as likely to be on the lookout for us."

"Oh," Casey said. "I guess that makes sense. See, I never think of things like that. But my little brother? He's _so _smart. He's only eleven, but he's like this science genius. He got first place at the state science fair because of this microscope thingy he designed... and he got to meet the governor and everything. He's pretty cool for a fifth grader."

"I bet he'll miss you," Kate said quietly.

Sawyer watched with interest.

Casey's face darkened, and she said in a subdued tone. "_Nobody'll _miss me."

Kate shared a sad look with Sawyer, and then glanced away.

They continued with the meal. When Sawyer had eaten as much as he could, he headed toward the men's restroom. After he came out, he scanned the other side of the park to make sure they were still safe. There were a few preppy-looking guys in khakis over near the tennis courts, drinking, but that was it.

As he neared the brick wall, he could hear female voices, low and muffled. Although he would have been unable to say what caused him to do it, he stopped to listen to the two of them before rejoining them at the table.

"I don't know," Casey was saying on the other side, answering a question Kate had put to her. "Your friend's kind of hot for an old guy, though."

"He's not _old_," Kate said defiantly. "He's thirty-five."

"Oh my God, that's so old," Casey said, laughing.

"Maybe to you," Kate conceded.

"So I'm right? He's just your friend?"

Kate hesitated. "Not exactly."

"Then he's your boyfriend?"

She sighed. "You're really nosy, aren't you?"

Casey shrugged. "I guess. I'm seventeen," she said, as if that explained it.

Kate waited a second. "I don't like that word. _Boyfriend_."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a little _high-school-_sounding, to tell you the truth."

"_I'm _in high school."

"Exactly."

Casey smiled. "That was mean," she said appreciatively, popping another chip in her mouth. She chewed contemplatively. "Then if he's not your boyfriend, what is he?"

"He's my..." Kate stopped, then tried again. "He's..." She stopped again, clearly at a loss. She laughed a little. "Honestly? I'm not really sure there's a word for what he is."

Casey looked at her as if she didn't understand.

Kate continued. "I mean, I don't think there's a word that would do him justice. All I know is, he means more to me than anybody else ever has. He's risking _everything _for me. God knows why," she said, as if mystified. "If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be out here right now... and neither would you, for that matter." She paused. "I don't know where I'd be. I used to be so good at doing this by myself... I was a _pro_. But now... If I had to get through just one day without him, I think I'd be lost." She laughed quietly. "How's that for melodrama? It sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud."

"Seriously?" Casey was confused. "Because I have to say, he kinda comes across as a jerkoff. No offense."

Kate smiled almost secretively. "Appearances can be deceiving."

"If you say so," she replied, as if she didn't believe it. She gave Kate a funny look. "You know, you're pretty soft for a fugitive. I figured you'd be way more badass than you are."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you," Kate said, rolling her eyes. "Although... if I was really feeling _badass_," she said, making air quotes around the last word, "then I probably would have slit your throat, put you in a garbage bag, and tossed you over the edge of that drop back at the rest stop. Considering my circumstances, that would have been the smart move." Casually, she started to play with a plastic butter knife, fixing the girl with a pointed stare.

Casey looked mildly disturbed. "Yeah... Thanks for not doing that." She watched the knife. "I gotta pee," she said, hurriedly leaving the table.

Kate laid the knife down and smiled.

On the other side of the wall, Sawyer ducked back into the shadows as Casey came around the edge. She went off toward the bathrooms, not noticing him. He remained unmoving for a few more seconds, still overcome by what he'd heard. Slowly, he went around the corner.

Kate was clearing away the trash from the meal, gathering everything back into the paper sack in order to throw it away. He stood still and watched her, without her being aware yet of his presence. It was such a simple, domestic task, but to him it was like watching her perform some kind of ballet. Her movements had such a natural grace to them. He loved to watch her when she didn't know she was being observed.

She stuffed the bag into the trash can and then sat back down at the table. Leaning her cheek on her hand, she looked out across the grass to the houses on the street bordering the park. It was dusk, and people were just beginning to turn their lights on. She gazed at the homes with a faraway, sad expression, looking into the rooms and wondering what kind of families lived there... what kind of secrets they had.

Sawyer approached her from behind. She heard him and turned her head slightly, making sure it was him. Relieved, she gave him a tiny smile. He put his hands on her shoulders. "What are we lookin' at?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Nothing," she said. She raised her hand and laid it over his, squeezing his fingers. "You see that bicycle over there... on that porch?"

"The blue one?"

"Yeah. I used to have one just like that, when I was a little kid. Identical." She sounded wistful.

He looked down at the top of her head. She'd braided her hair with little attention to detail, and the part was crooked, zigzagging back and forth. He ran his finger along it, lightly. "Kate," he whispered.

She tilted her head back, upside down, and looked at him curiously, with concern. "What? Is everything okay?" she asked.

Instead of answering, he leaned over and kissed her. She tilted back even further on the bench, and he caught her so that she wouldn't fall over, still kissing her. She raised her hands to the sides of his face. When he finally pulled back he sat down beside her. She took a second to catch her breath.

"What was that for?" she asked with a questioning smile.

"I gotta have a reason?"

"I guess not," she said, still confused, but smiling.

She regarded him closely. "You look tired. I think we should go ahead and stop at the first motel we come to."

"I'm fine," he argued. "Could drive for hours."

"You're tired," she insisted.

"Not even a little."

They gave each other playful, challenging looks. Both knew that Kate would win.

Eventually, they were forced to lower their gazes as Casey came back around to the table. It was like turning off an electrical current. Sawyer always felt an almost physical sense of loss when they broke eye contact.

Casey looked flushed and pleased with herself. "Next dinner's on me," she said proudly.

Kate glanced up at her. "I thought you said you didn't have any money."

"I do now." With a flourish, she placed an expensive-looking leather wallet on the table in front of them.

Closing her eyes, Kate asked wearily, "Where did you get that?"

"From one of those guys over there by the tennis courts. He was so busy staring at my chest, he never noticed a thing."

Sawyer grinned and shook his head slowly. "Not bad, Red. Not bad at all."

Casey looked pleasantly surprised at his changed attitude. "Thanks!"

"Don't encourage her!" Kate told him.

"What? If she's bound and determined to be a stowaway, least she can do is pull her own weight."

"Well, I don't want her stealing. We have enough to worry about already without that."

"All I'm sayin' is, it won't hurt for her to look out for herself a little bit."

Casey looked from one to the other, amused. "Oh my God, you guys are totally freaking me out. Should I start calling you Mom and Dad?"

"_Please _don't," Kate said, beyond horrified.

Casey rolled her eyes. "_Kidding_!" She sat down. "So, anyway, what I was thinking was, we start small, with wallets and things. But then... I think we should try something bigger, like a bank robbery! I mean, come on, wouldn't that _rock_? I could go in with the gun, and I'd be all like, '_If you don't want this to be your last day on earth, then open the vault, now_!'" As Casey said this, she lowered her voice comically and mimed holding a gun. "You like that? I made it up myself, just now on the toilet. Then, you can go in and get the money," she said, looking at Kate, "while I make sure nobody moves or calls the cops. And he can drive the getaway car," she said, remembering to include Sawyer at the last minute.

"Why do I have to drive the getaway car?" he asked, irritated.

Casey snorted in derision. "Come on! What else are you gonna do?"

"A hell of a lot more than you can! Why don't _you _drive the getaway car?"

"I'm not driving that piece of shit!" she said, looking over pityingly toward the parking lot.

"Nobody's robbing a bank!" Kate said, before Sawyer could defend his truck. "Look, we have enough money, all right? We don't need anything more right now... but thanks for the offer. I don't want you to steal anything else while you're with us. Promise?"

Casey looked disappointed. "Yeah," she muttered. "But I'm keeping the wallet."

Kate sighed. "Let's go."

They headed toward the truck. Casey hesitated before getting in. "Do I still have to ride in the back? It's getting cold, you know. And it smells like a wet dog back there."

"Your damsel-in-distress routine could use a little work, kiddo," Sawyer told her, irritated.

"Yes or no?" she said impatiently.

Kate could tell Sawyer was going to give in. She nodded at him, urging him to hurry up and get it over with.

"All right," he said grudgingly. "But Kate sits in the middle."

"Did I _say _I wanted to sit by you?" Casey asked with sarcasm.

Kate got in first, reluctantly, looking like her energy was sapped. Sawyer and Casey got in at the same time, slamming their doors with perfect pissed-off synchronicity.


	7. Chapter 7

Guys, please don't worry about Casey too much - she'll be gone before you know it. And she is there for a reason, I promise. I don't just make this stuff up as I go along... I can't just write Kate and Sawyer, with nobody else, 100 of the time. I would very quickly run out of material and lose my mind from boredom. As much as they mean to each other, they don't exist in a bubble. Hopefully, Casey won't be quite as annoying in this installment. ;)

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**Chapter Seven**

The motel they arrived at later in the evening was an almost exact replica of the one from a few nights earlier, except that, for some ungodly reason, it was painted pink. They tried to get two adjoining rooms, but to Sawyer's irritation, none were available. Instead, they were forced to settle for one room with two beds.

When they'd lugged their bags up to the second floor and pushed the door open, Sawyer immediately fell onto one of the beds and stretched out, contorting his face in pain and groaning as he tried to relax his sore muscles. Kate sat down at his side, looking down at him sympathetically. "Isn't it crazy how just sitting in one place all day can make you this exhausted?"

"You sure you don't just wanna hike up there?" he asked with his eyes closed.

She smiled at him, laying her hand on his shoulder. She was on the verge of saying something else when she noticed Casey standing in the doorway, hesitantly. For a second, she'd forgotten about her.

"You coming in?"

Casey bit her lip. "Do you want me to, um... wander around for awhile out there? You know, to give you guys some privacy? How much time do you need... Like, say, ten minutes?"

Sawyer opened his eyes. "Ten _minutes_?" he said incredulously. "You think that's all it's gonna take?"

Casey looked thoughtful. "Fifteen?"

Sawyer looked at Kate, exasperated. She tried not to laugh. "Actually, I think it would be better if you just stayed in the room with us for now."

Casey looked mildly surprised by this, and a little nervous. She began tentatively. "Oh... okay. But, um.. I should warn you. I've never really... done that before?" Her voice tilted upward questioningly.

Kate was confused. "Done what?"

Casey seemed uncomfortable. "A three-way," she whispered.

Sawyer looked at her in shock.

"A _what_?" Kate demanded. "Oh, my God... That's... that's _not _what I meant," she stammered, trying to stay calm, making a face of disgust. "_At all_. I only meant that, we've all had a long day, and that we should probably just turn in early, and get some sleep."

"Oh," Casey said, embarrassed now. "Okay. Good idea." She paused. "You have anything I can wear?"

Still bewildered, it took Kate a few seconds to respond. "Hold on." She sighed and started going through a duffel bag. Pulling out a few things, she tossed them to the girl. Casey muttered a "thanks" and disappeared into the bathroom.

Kate and Sawyer stared at each other.

"I say tomorrow, we just start drivin' back in the same direction and dump her off at her own goddamn house," Sawyer said quietly.

Kate rolled her eyes. "Don't you think she would catch on? She's a teenager, Sawyer, she's not _retarded_. She'll notice if we go back the same way we came."

"Then I suggest you start wrackin' your brains for ideas, because I sure as hell know that I'm not gonna be able to put up with this much longer."

"I know," Kate said, breathing out deeply. "I'll think of something." She leaned against the backboard of the bed, wearily.

A few seconds later, Casey came back out.

"Does it fit?" Kate asked, not really caring but feeling the need to say something.

"It's all right," she responded. She looked down critically. "It's a little small in the chest area."

Kate glanced away with a wry look. "Once again, thank you for mentioning that."

Sawyer looked defensive. "Hell, Freckles, the way I figure, it's just like the three bears," he said in a falsely casual tone, casting a withering glance at Casey. "And that blonde chick who ate their damn soup."

Kate looked at him like he was insane. "What?"

"Don't you remember the moral of that story? It's better to have just the right amount of somethin', than too little or too much." He grinned at her supportively.

She finally caught on to what he was getting at. "I think it was porridge. But thanks." She smiled back, appreciative. She wanted badly to kiss him, but it just felt so strange with someone else in the room.

"You care if I watch TV?" Casey asked, sounding bored. Or maybe she was just tired, or sad - it was hard to tell.

"Go for it," Sawyer muttered.

She pulled back the bedspread and climbed between the sheets, idly flipping through the channels for a while. She finally settled on something, and all three of them stared at it listlessly, without any real interest.

Within a remarkably short period of time, Casey was asleep. The remote slipped from her hand. Kate stood up and took it, carefully, then turned the TV back off. She looked at Sawyer. "Well?" she said in a quiet voice. "I guess we should try to sleep, too."

"Yeah," he said, regretfully, as if that wasn't at all what he wanted to do.

Sawyer undressed to his boxers and Kate changed into a tank top and cotton shorts. They got into bed, and Kate flipped off the lamp on the table, plunging them into blackness.

They lay there, on their sides, facing one another but not touching. After a few seconds, their eyes adjusted so that they could each make out the faint outlines of the other's body, but not much more. They listened to one another breathe. Kate could feel the heat radiating from Sawyer's body, from the solid, reassuring mass of him there next to her. Her hands ached to reach out and touch his bare chest, his shoulders, his midsection... but she restrained herself.

Sawyer, by concentrating, could actually detect the intoxicating scent of her skin and her hair. It was faint, but unmistakable. And his willpower was less well-developed than hers. Reaching out slowly, his hand under the covers, he ran his fingers lightly from the side of her leg up to the slight dip of her waist. He could feel her tense up in response, but she removed his hand before it could continue on its journey and pushed it back toward him.

"Sawyer," she whispered warningly. "Don't. We _can't_."

They continued to lie there, an excruciating tension between them. Neither could relax. Kate shifted restlessly. Sawyer felt like punching something. In his mind, this was comparable to trekking through a burning desert, being presented with a glass of cold water, and then told to look at it, but not to drink it. It was _torture_. It was like the world's most sadistic sleepover.

He suddenly drew in his breath as he felt Kate's knee pressing against his groin, lightly but firmly, then she just as quickly withdrew. "Sorry," she said. "It slipped." In the dim light, he could just make out the glitter of mischief in her eyes.

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. He watched her intently, their heads just inches away from each other on the pillows.

"Good night, sassafras," he said in a low drawl.

"Night," she responded, still smiling.

They both closed their eyes. The blanket continued to rise and fall with their quick breathing. Their muscles remained tense, their bodies rigid in the same positions, each feeling the invisible, almost magnetic waves that seemed to radiate from the other.

After about two minutes of this agony, Kate sat up and flung the bedspread back. She grabbed Sawyer's arm and pulled him after her. He rose willingly, not resisting. They made their way soundlessly across the room, carefully passing the other bed.

In the bathroom, he pressed her up against the door as soon as it was closed. They kissed with such force that it was hard to breathe. The only sound was the hissing intake of air through their noses. There was a tiny nightlight here that illuminated the room with a dim, orange glow, something like the last embers of a campfire.

Within seconds, Sawyer lifted her up onto the counter next to the sink, without breaking their kiss. They managed to remove each others' clothing with swift, practiced motions. Kate didn't bother with her tank top. There wasn't time for that. Sawyer ran his hands up underneath it, and then around to her back as she rocked against him. They moved in frantic, jerky motions, panting loudly but making every effort not to cry out. Because of their inadvertent preparation in bed, it didn't take long to get the job done. She arched against him and then bit his shoulder to keep from making any noise. He shuddered and buried his head in her hair, his legs almost refusing to support him for a second. They collapsed against each other, breathing hard, feeling shaky and spent.

After a few seconds, Kate lifted her head. "I think we might have just set a record time, there," she said softly, sounding a little sheepish now that the heat of the moment had passed.

"Sorry 'bout that," Sawyer muttered.

"Don't be," she assured him. "It was..." she stopped, not knowing how to continue. "I mean, it was really..."

He watched her, amused. Then he decided to have a little fun with her. "Hell, sweetheart, I'm not sure there's a _word for what that was." _He watched her closely. "Or at least, there's _not a word that would do it justice_."

He noticed the incremental change in her expression as she recognized, with shock, her own words from the park earlier. Even in the faint glow of the nightlight, he could see the color rise to her cheeks. _Damn_, he loved making her blush.

She leaned back a little further to regard him, trying to detect if he was really messing with her, or if she was only imagining it. The sly look on his face told her all she needed to know. She closed her eyes, a slight, ironic smile touching the corners of her mouth. "You know," she began slowly. "Eavesdropping is a _very _unattractive quality."

"Not gonna argue with that," he agreed. "But with all the unattractive qualities I got, is that really the one you oughtta be worried about?"

She laughed a little. "Good point."

Then she looked at him with a softened expression, pausing for a few seconds. She brushed back a sweaty strand of hair that was always hanging into his eyes. "So you heard all that, huh?"

Now he looked down, almost shyly. "Nah," he said, pretending there was something fascinating about her knee, not meeting her eyes. "Just a little. Wasn't really payin' that much attention."

She considered messing with him for payback, embarrassing him the same way he'd just done to her. But for one reason or another, she couldn't do it.

Instead, she leaned over against him again. His cheek was rough and sandpapery against hers, the way she liked him to keep it. "Well, whatever you heard..." she began. Putting her mouth almost against his ear, she whispered so softly that it was barely audible, "_I meant it_."

He remained still for a moment, then he brought his arms back up around her. She leaned against his shoulder for a bit. Finally, without saying anything else, they kissed each other deeply, got dressed again, and then silently made their way back across the room to the bed.

This time, they had no trouble falling asleep.

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When Kate woke up later in the night, she was conscious of a distinct chill in the room. A cold breeze came from the opposite side of the bed. Sitting up, trying to clear her head enough to figure out what was wrong, she could see that the door was open a crack, as if it hadn't been shut properly. She glanced over to see if the cold had awakened Casey, but to her surprise, the bed was empty.

"Hey," she said, nudging Sawyer. There was no response, so she shoved him harder. "Sawyer!"

"What?" he groaned.

"She's gone."

"Great. Break out the champagne," he mumbled into his pillow, without opening his eyes.

Sighing, Kate pulled her jeans back on, then her sweater and jacket.

"What the hell are you doin'?" he asked, finally opening his eyes to squint at her, confused.

"I'm going to look for her."

"_Why_?" he demanded, truly bewildered. "Isn't this exactly what we been waitin' for?"

She zipped up her jacket, not answering at first. She paused. "I don't know why," she told him truthfully. "Just go back to sleep."

Before he could say anything else, she'd slipped out the door and pulled it shut behind her.

She could see immediately that she wouldn't have to look far. There was the figure of a girl draped over the balcony, down at the far end, at the corner of the rows of rooms. She stared down into the empty swimming pool, sadly. As Kate neared her, she noticed something in her hands. It flashed and glinted in the light from the street lamp.

"That's a nice knife," Kate said casually as she approached, not wanting to alarm her.

Casey turned her head slightly, as if she wasn't really surprised to see her.

"My grandpa gave it to me. Before he died," she explained.

Kate could see, as she reached the iron railing, that this was not the same girl she'd been interacting with all day. In the flourescent light, Casey was pale and haggard. All the spark was gone from her expression, as if she'd been playing a part that she was glad to leave behind on the stage. Her eyes looked older than seventeen.

"He must have trusted you a lot, to give you such a dangerous weapon."

"I guess he thought I might need it," Casey said simply.

"_Have _you ever needed it?" Kate asked.

Casey shrugged, but she didn't say anything.

Kate decided to try another tactic. "Were you having trouble sleeping?"

"I'm used to getting up early. I have to milk cows. Or, I mean, I _did_... Before I left," she corrected herself. She looked at Kate curiously. "Have _you _ever milked a cow?"

Kate looked a little wistful. "Believe it or not, I have."

"Figures," Casey said with a hint of contempt.

Kate had no idea what this comment was supposed to mean, so she let it pass.

"So... you want to tell me why you're running away?"

"I already told you... I'm a criminal, like you. I'm _wanted by the law_." The earnest way she emphasized the last four words would have been almost cute, if it hadn't been so serious.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot," Kate said, trying to hide a smile.

They sat in silence for a minute. Casey still held the knife, turning it slowly in her hands, as if it gave her some sort of comfort.

Kate's next words were spoken in a soft voice. She watched the girl closely. "I forgot to tell you... I met your stepdad this morning."

Casey gave a small, startled jolt. The knife slipped and nicked the tip of her index finger, and she pulled her hand away with a sharp gasp of irritation.

Concerned, Kate grabbed her hand to examine the cut, but Casey pulled it back away from her, annoyed. "It's fine," she insisted. "It's the size of a papercut." She pulled a crumpled tissue out of her pocket and wrapped it around the finger, then folded the knife up and put it away. She still seemed visibly shaken.

Kate felt a wave of sadness wash over her, with a healthy dose of anger mixed in. She also felt completely helpless. It was like having a dream where you keep repeating the same action over and over and over again, but without ever seeming to get anywhere. The outcome is the same every time. She knew the weight of the troubles that would keep drifting down over Casey until they smothered her. Even though tonight they were relatively new, she could see how they would pile up over the years until this present moment, at the bottom of the heap, would be lost to view.

"What did he do to you?" she whispered. She sounded tired.

Casey shot her a glance filled with hatred. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Kate refused to lower her gaze. "Did he hurt you?"

Casey swallowed hard. Her face threatened to crumple, but she rallied and collected herself, enough to say bitterly, "I'm not gonna talk about this with you, so you can forget it. Who do you think you are, like, my _guidance counselor_?"

"_No_," Kate said, beginning to be annoyed. "But I wish to God he was _here_."

"It's a _she_," Casey said. "Mrs. Emerson. And she thinks I'm a whore, so I doubt she'd have much sympathy."

Kate sighed, closing her eyes against another chill gust of wind. "Have you told your mom?"

"Yeah, right," Casey replied with defensive sarcasm. "You think there's a chance in hell she would actually believe me? _She's _the one who married the disgusting bastard, remember? She worships the ground he walks on! I mean, can you imagine? Actually being married to that... that..._thing_?" She stopped here, apparently fighting tears. "It doesn't matter. I'll never see her again, so it doesn't matter."

Kate was quiet for a minute. She looked down at the pool. "My mom died a few years ago," she said softly. "Cancer."

Casey looked over at her, confused, apparently unsure of what to say.

"She was pretty far gone the last time I saw her," Kate went on, like she was talking to herself. "But she recognized me. She recognized me enough... to call for help." She paused, looking into the past, tormented. "She died thinking that I was this horrible person... this _monster_. My own mother," she went on, in a disbelieving voice. "I guess maybe the illness might have had something to do with it... or even all the medication she was on. But I'll never know for sure. All I know is that she was _terrified _of me."

"Why?" Casey asked, intrigued.

Kate smiled bitterly. "That's a much longer story than you want to hear. Believe me." She took a deep breath, trying to bring herself back to the present. "There are... a lot of things about my past that I would change if I could. If I could go back, and do everything over again. But I think maybe one of the most important ones... would be to tell my mom the truth. The truth about everything that happened, about why I did what I did, who I really was... _everything_. I tried, but maybe I didn't try hard enough."

Casey looked away, in thought.

Kate stared at her. "You need to tell your mom," she said. "_Please_. If she doesn't believe you... Then at least you'll know, right? You won't always have to wonder about what might have happened. About how differently things might have turned out."

Instead of answering, Casey sighed deeply. After a while, she said in a dull voice, "You guys aren't gonna let me come with you, are you?"

Kate took a second to respond. "The place we're going to... You don't want to go there. Trust me. _We _don't even want to go there. But we don't have any choice."

"That's what I thought," she said sadly.

"Besides," Kate went on. "You wouldn't want to be around us for long. We're selfish, and violent, and manipulative... We're the last people in the world who should have anything to do with taking care of another person." She said these words bitterly, with an added sense of their irony, in light of what the coming months most likely held in store.

"You're nice to _each other_," Casey said, in argument.

"You obviously haven't been around us that long," Kate said with a slight smile.

"Bickering doesn't count," she replied, refusing to be swayed. "That guy would commit murder for you, and you know it."

"_Please _don't say that," Kate said, disturbed. She knew how unnervingly true the words were.

"Must be nice," Casey said quietly. "To have somebody you can tell everything to. Somebody who actually cares about you and believes everything you say."

"You'll find somebody like that," Kate told her. "I'm sure of it."

"Will I have to be in a plane crash first?" Casey asked, with a hint of flippancy.

"Funny," Kate told her, smiling. She was relieved that the girl seemed to be back to her smart-ass self, at least temporarily.

They sat without speaking for a few more minutes.

Finally, Casey took a deep breath. "Just do me a favor, okay? When you decide to ditch me, at least let me know first. Don't just take off when I'm not looking, or something."

"I wouldn't do that to you," Kate said.

"Okay," Casey said. "Good." She seemed to believe her, wholeheartedly. For some reason, it scared Kate to see someone put so much faith in her words.

Noticing that her fingers felt like ice, she let go of the railing. "Why don't you come back inside, and get some more sleep before we hit the road again," she suggested.

"That's okay," Casey said. "I think I'll just stay here. I like to watch the sun come up." Then she glanced over at Kate, almost embarrassed. "But don't tell anybody I said that."

She smiled. "I won't."

Kate headed back down the second floor balcony, past all the other rooms, still darkened and with drawn curtains. Before she pushed open their own door, she looked back down at the girl leaning forlornly against the railing. Instead of feeling helpless, she felt the beginnings of a nervous, anticipatory hopefulness. Was it possible the kid had actually listened to her? Would she really consider talking to her mother? She didn't know if she'd said too much, or maybe not enough. If only she could find the happy median... the words that would actually fit. _The stupid three bears again_, she thought wryly, remembering Sawyer's allusion earlier.

Giving it up for the night, she went back into the room. She stumbled in the darkness, got undressed again, and then climbed back into the bed. She was numb with cold, so she got as close to Sawyer as she could, with the aim of stealing some of his body heat.

"You find her?" he asked clearly, in a wide-awake voice. She was surprised that he wasn't asleep.

"Yeah," she whispered. "She's right outside."

There was a pause. "She okay?" She could detect a faint trace of concern in his tone, although he did a good job of hiding it.

She considered, for some reason overcome by the fact that he had even asked. In an effort to be candid, she responded with a degree of doubt.

"She might be. Eventually."

Apparently satisfied with this answer, he didn't inquire further.

"You're freezing," he said, as if he were just stating a fact.

Kate rested her head on his chest, now understanding, with a mixture of pride and guilt, why Casey had sounded jealous earlier. Sawyer pulled the covers tighter around both of them.


	8. Chapter 8

Happy (late) birthday, **agentalana**! Sorry I couldn't update yesterday... Hopefully today isn't too late!

And somebody asked how long this fic is going to be - Honestly, right now it's shaping up to be even longer than "In Hiding", if I manage to get everything in that I want to. I know that sounds insane, but I can't figure out what I should cut out, because I want to do it all. Lol.. I guess we'll just have to see. It'll be so strange if Kate and Sawyer really get together this season... I'm not sure how that'll affect the fic.

Thanks so much for reviewing!

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**Chapter Eight**

Sawyer let the heavy curtain drop from his hand as he looked over at Kate, who was leaning against the headboard of the bed with her eyes closed, her head turned away from him.

"It's raining," he informed her. Her only response was a slight tensing of the muscles of her forehead, a barely perceptible grimace. She didn't look at him.

He sighed and picked up a magazine, absently, from the table. Sitting down in the cheaply upholstered chair in the corner by the window, he rolled it up and began to thump it against his leg with an air of impatience.

After a few seconds, he heard a quietly muttered, "Please stop that." He glanced over at her again, but there was no sign that she'd even moved. With irritation, he flung the magazine back onto the table.

Suddenly, Kate stood up with her hand over her mouth and went into the bathroom, closing the door loudly behind her.

Casey, who was lying on her stomach on the other bed watching TV, glanced around at the bathroom, then looked at Sawyer with her eyebrows raised. He glared at her. She turned her attention back to the screen.

With only minor variations, this exact scene had been enacted by the three of them for the last four days in a row. They'd now been traveling with Casey for nearly a week, still unable to come up with a precise plan for getting rid of her. The longer she was with them, the more difficult it became. Despite their best efforts, she had now become to them a fully fleshed-out person instead of just a nuisance, and though he wouldn't have admitted it, even Sawyer couldn't stand the thought of just abandoning her somewhere. So instead of thinking about it, or planning for anything, they just kept blindly going forward, hoping an opportunity would present itself at some point. But they knew that every day it was becoming more and more dangerous to be in her company. The local news reports had been filled with stories about her disappearance, and although Casey had been fascinated to watch them at first, the sight of her mother tearfully promising a reward for any information leading to her recovery had decidedly cooled her excitement. She'd barely spoken for hours after seeing that, and now she quickly changed the channel any time she heard the mention of her own name.

They were only in southern Indiana now, which wasn't nearly as far as they had expected to be at this point in the journey. Part of this could be blamed on Casey, and on the fact that none of them could stand to be crammed into the cab of the truck for more than a few hours at a time. Three people was simply too many for such a small space. There didn't seem to be enough air for all of them to breathe, let alone space to move around. Because of this, they made as many stops as they could.

But the main reason why they were making such bad time was obvious to everyone, although nobody mentioned it. Kate had been sick every morning for nearly a week now, and it had become impossible for them to get on the road before 11:00 am, or sometimes even later. The motion of the truck was like torture to her, and even with the strongest resolve, it was more than she could endure. Kate had vaguely mentioned to Casey that she had some kind of stomach flu, which the girl had seemed to accept without question. Since she preferred to stay at the motels watching morning talk shows anyway, it didn't bother her to get a late start.

To Sawyer, however, Kate didn't offer any explanations. In fact, the two of them appeared to have agreed, by mutual consent, not to mention her mysterious illness to each other at all. It was easy for him to see that she was miserable, and resentful, and embarrassed, and that she hated more than anything in the world for him to see her this way. It was just so contrary to her nature, to show signs of weakness. She hated being up against an opponent that she couldn't fight back against. During these terrible morning hours, she carefully avoided eye contact with Sawyer, and she tried hard to maintain a distanced, stoic reserve until the nausea had passed.

Sawyer was trying his best to cooperate with this undiscussed plan, but it was wearing on him. Not only because he wanted to do something to help her, but because her attitude of avoidance was annoying the hell out of him. He had the uneasy sense that he was being left out of something that he should have been a part of, and that she was doing this on purpose, and with no intention of changing anything in the future. There was also the looming sense of words that needed to be spoken, a conversation he knew that she would evade using everything in her power. If he forced it, there would inevitably be a fight, and the possible consequences of that fight scared him enough to keep him silent, for now. In a strange way, the presence of Casey was actually a help rather than a hindrance to him in this regard. Although there was a strained tension between Kate and himself, he knew that if the two of them had been alone, the explosion might have already occurred.

But the truth was, he didn't know how much more of this he could take. It was bad enough being in the company of two women twenty-four hours a day, but it was made even more intolerable by the fact that the one who he wanted to talk to wouldn't even look at him, and the one he wanted nothing to do with would never shut up. To make matters worse, he'd awakened with a dull, pulsing headache this morning, and what he wanted most in the world right now was to get the hell away from both of them for awhile. He thought back to his days before the island, of his blissful aloneness, his responsibility to no one and nothing but himself... and even _that _responsibility hadn't been held in very high regard, considering his self-loathing tendencies. It felt like ten years ago instead of six months.

The past vanished from his thoughts the minute Kate came out of the bathroom, however. She'd pulled her hair back into a half-hearted, messy attempt at a bun, but strands of her it were still sticking to her pale, sweat-dampened face. She sank heavily down onto the bed again and leaned back in her former position, closing her eyes. Casey followed her with her gaze, and then looked over at Sawyer expectantly. He wanted to tell her to go to hell, but instead he stood up and moved slowly toward Kate, stopping at the side of the bed with hesitation.

She could sense him standing there, and after a few seconds, when he didn't move away, she opened her eyes.

"What?" she whispered, looking at his knees.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said, giving him the practiced line in the scene they'd been rehearsing all week.

This was his cue to leave her alone. She waited for him to go, but he didn't show any signs of moving, this time. Confused, she slowly raised her eyes up to his. When she did, he sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. She turned her head aside, biting her lip slightly in irritation.

Sawyer noticed that her cheekbones seemed unusually prominent in the light from the bedside lamp. Were they always like that? Or was he just imagining things? He felt suddenly worried.

"You should probably eat somethin'," he said, more bluntly than he'd meant to.

Without opening her eyes, she said quietly, "If you try to talk to me about food right now, I swear to God I'll give you a black eye."

He let his breath out slowly, trying not to get angry. "Then you don't want anything? I'll get you whatever you want."

"There's nothing you can do." She sounded bitter.

He swallowed hard, wondering why those simple words should hurt him so much. "_Yeah_," he muttered in a resigned tone, standing up. "I'm startin' to realize that."

As he turned away, her voice surprised him.

"Wait."

Was that a hint of regret he heard? He sat back down beside her, curious but still annoyed.

She reluctantly turned her head toward him. "Maybe, um..." She breathed in deeply. "Maybe some crackers? Aren't they supposed to settle your stomach?"

He grasped at the idea eagerly. "Crackers? I can get you those... I can get 'em right now. There's a convenience store across the street. That all you want?"

"That's all," she said.

"Oh my God, I love this video!" Casey said, apparently to herself. The volume on the TV suddenly increased.

Kate made a face, and then looked at Sawyer pleadingly. "Can you take her with you?"

He glanced over at the girl, who was now standing in front of the bed, mimicking some sexy dance moves with no indication of rhythm, or sexiness, at all.

Turning back to Kate with a sigh, he said, "You owe me."

The corners of her mouth turned up in a faint indication of a smile. "Thank you."

He continued to look at her, wanting to prolong this moment for just a few more seconds. Then he stood up and grabbed his coat.

"C'mon, Red. Looks like we're goin' on a little errand run."

She looked around at him skeptically. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Beg to differ with ya there, sweetheart." Taking the remote control from her, he turned the television off.

"Hey!" she protested.

"She can wear my jacket," Kate muttered, letting her eyes close again.

Sawyer picked it up and tossed it to Casey, who now looked interested. "Can I wear your shoes too?"

"You got your own shoes," Sawyer answered her.

She gave him a dirty look, but pulled on the jacket and followed him out of the room.

Outside, she pulled the hood over her head as a protection against the cold, needle-like rain that slanted against them relentlessly. Sawyer hunched his shoulders and lowered his head, and they headed down the metal stairs and across the parking lot to the street. Casey dashed across quickly, but Sawyer followed at his own pace, refusing to run.

"You're gonna get hit by a car!" Casey called back to him gleefully, cupping her hands around her mouth. She seemed almost disappointed when he made it across safely.

Once inside the store, she made a beeline for a rack of sunglasses near the counter. "Look at these!" she exclaimed, lifting a gaudy pair and immediately trying them on. She examined herself in the tiny mirror affixed to the rack. "I look so hot in these..." she breathed. "Can I get 'em?" she asked Sawyer. "They're only twenty-five dollars... That's really cheap for this brand, trust me."

"You think I'm gonna spend twenty-five bucks on you?" He looked around distractedly, trying to figure out where the crackers might be.

"But I don't have any money!" she whined.

"What happened to the wallet you stole?"

"I already spent all that, on food and on gas for _you guys_."

"Yeah, well then, I guess you shoulda _budgeted _for sunglasses, huh?" he asked sarcastically.

"You're such a dick," she muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" Sawyer asked threateningly.

"I said, _You're such a dick_," she repeated, loudly, with not even a hint of reluctance. A woman examining newspapers turned to glance at the two of them and gave Sawyer a disapproving look.

Embarrassed, he grabbed Casey's jacket and yanked her into another aisle.

"You want to give me a hand here, princess?"

"What are we looking for? Playboys?"

"No, not _Playboys_," he echoed derisively. Then he stopped. "Why, you think they sell 'em in here?"

She stared at him with her arms crossed, looking unnervingly like Kate. He turned away, disturbed. "We're lookin' for crackers, all right? You think you can handle that?"

"Yeah, I think so. You're standing right in front of them," she said, gesturing across the aisle.

He looked where she was pointing. "Great," he muttered. "There's like ten different kinds. How the hell am I supposed to know which ones to get?"

"I'd go with the basic Saltines if I were you," Casey said. She picked up a box and handed it to him. "That's what my cousin Summer always wanted when she had morning sickness. She used to have to eat about ten of them before she even got out of bed."

Sawyer looked at her sharply, surprised. "I thought Kate told you she had the flu. What makes you think it's _morning sickness_?"

Casey rolled her eyes. "Well, it only happens in the _morning_, for one thing. Plus, she always looks pissed off at you when it does, so I'm assuming you must have had _something _to do with it." She shrugged.

For a second he didn't know what to say. Should he try to convince her otherwise? What was the point? He shook his head. "Nice _detective _work," he said bitterly.

"Yeah, well, she's not as good of a liar as she thinks she is." She considered. "Or maybe it's just that I'm such a good liar myself that I can tell the difference."

"I wouldn't be too sure she's lying if I were you," Sawyer said, looking miserable. "You ever heard of a little thing called _denial_?"

Casey looked confused. "What, you mean, like, _she _thinks she has the flu?"

He looked down at the crackers, pretending to read the label. "I don't know what the hell she thinks," he said quietly.

"Why don't you ask her?"

He glanced back at her. "It ain't quite that simple," he told her, starting to move down the aisle. She followed him, thoughtfully.

He stopped again at the glassed-in cases of cold drinks, trying to decide whether something carbonated would be okay for her stomach. Would she be pissed if he got something she hadn't asked for? _Probably_, he thought, already second-guessing himself. He'd almost decided against it when Casey slid the door open, grabbed a soda, and handed it to him without a word. He took it, and they stood there for a second, looking at each other.

"Let me ask you a question," Sawyer began, tentatively, but unable to resist. "She seem... _all right _to you? I mean, from what you've seen so far?"

"You mean, other than the puking?"

"Yeah," Sawyer said, annoyed. "Other than the puking."

Casey appeared to be thinking. "She seems fine to me. I mean, this part is normal, right?" She paused. "But what are you asking me for?"

"Just curious," he said, moving over to another aisle to avoid eye contact.

"I think I get it," she said after a few seconds, coming up behind him. "It's not like you can just walk into a doctor's office, right? That would be kinda stupid, considering the whole fugitive thing." She went on again, in a quieter voice. "So I guess you're pretty much on your own. That must be... really scary."

He glanced over at her, thinking that maybe she was a little more intuitive than she let on.

She continued. "But I don't think you have anything to worry about. I mean, she's pretty strong, right? She's, like, _Amazon-woman _strong," she said in an awed tone. "I'm sure she'll be fine. Think about it this way. Women made it through thousands of years without obstetricians... and the human race is still here, so... I'd say it works out okay most of the time, you know?"

He was strangely reassured by this idea, as random as it was. It was something that had never occurred to him before.

"Of course," Casey went on doubtfully, "A lot of them died during pregnancy and childbirth, along with the babies... and about fifty percent of the infants that _did _survive didn't even make it to the age of twelve..."

She looked up at Sawyer's horrified expression.

"Crap," she muttered. "I should have stopped talking a minute ago. It's just that I have European history this semester, and it's _really _depressing."

He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to keep the headache from getting worse. Should he get more aspirin?

"She'll be fine," Casey said firmly. "She was really healthy before, right?"

"Yeah," he said, thinking. "Never seen her sick before this... not once."

"Then this part probably won't last very long. But..." she looked around. "You should get her these. And these, too." She lifted a bottle of vitamins and a container of calcium supplements from a nearby shelf. "She'll stay healthier that way. They might even make her feel better."

Sawyer looked at the bottles, and then at Casey, oddly grateful. "Thanks," he said grudgingly. He would never in a million years have thought to get something as simple as _vitamins_. What the hell was wrong with him?

"No problem," she said in a casual tone. She seemed to be waiting for something.

He sighed heavily. "Go get the damn sunglasses," he told her.

She clasped her hands together, her face lighting up. "Really?"

"Better hurry up before I change my mind."

Without warning, she hopped up on her tiptoes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Sorry I called you a dick!" she said cheerfully, before moving away toward the rack.

He stood there for a minute, a strange, indescribable sensation lingering in him. He'd never once been kissed by any female, other than relatives, in a completely non-sexual context. It somehow made him feel older, as if he'd all of a sudden become an adult, although that was ridiculous. _How could anybody ever have hurt that kid_? he wondered, feeling a bizarre flood of protectiveness, forgetting that he himself had very nearly lunged at her just days before.

After paying, they went back outside and crossed the street again. Casey insisted on wearing the sunglasses, even though it was a gray, dreary day, and she could see virtually nothing with them on. She groped in front of her like a blind person, trying to use Sawyer as some kind of human seeing-eye dog.

"These are so cool," she kept repeating.

"You're gonna get hit by a car," Sawyer said, mocking her with the same words she'd thrown at him earlier.

"Who cares? I'll look hot in these even if I'm dead."

He shook his head wearily. They'd now reached the parking lot of the motel, and Sawyer looked around. Suddenly, he froze, and then with a quick jerking motion, pulled Casey behind a parked van.

"What?" she asked, taking the glasses off and peeking around the edge of the van. He watched all the life and expression drain out of her face, to be replaced by a kind of dread he didn't even want to think about.

At the front of the motel, near a squad car, stood her stepfather, talking to two cops and gesturing toward the building.

Casey leaned against the vehicle weakly. The sunglasses dropped unheeded from her hand. With shaking fingers, she dug through her pocket and pulled out the knife Kate had seen her with earlier.

"Hey," Sawyer said, alarmed, taking it from her. "Why don't you let me hang onto that for now, all right?"

She looked at him desperately. "How...? How are they...?"

"Somebody must have seen you when we got here yesterday and reported it," he interrupted her, with the only explanation he could think of. "Cops probably alerted your parents, and they drove through the night. Ain't no other way they could be here so soon."

Sawyer's mind was racing. Were they planning to search the building? Kate was alone in the room. He _had _to get back to the room, no matter what it took.

Leaning down with a sick feeling, not even knowing what he was doing, he picked up the sunglasses and held them out to Casey. "Put 'em back on. And pull the hood up all the way, over your head."

She did as instructed, and he zipped her jacket all the way up to her chin. Was that too suspicious? She looked like the goddamn Unabomber.

Casey took a deep, shaky breath. "What are we gonna do?"

"We got to circle around, get back into the room somehow. Then we'll figure something out."

"Okay," she said, like she trusted him completely.

He looked around the side of the van. The three men were standing on the other side of the car now, and the bastard looked pissed, like he'd been arguing with the police. Sawyer grabbed Casey's arm and moved quickly around the opposite side of the motel, coming up on the building again from the back. They climbed the stairs to the second floor. Now was the tricky part. They had to walk right out in front of the cops to get into the room. Taking a deep breath, Sawyer kept his head down and walked quickly, making sure the girl stayed on the side next to the building, partially blocked by his body. He stuck the key into the door and was thankful when it turned instantly, without trouble. Pushing the door open, he let Casey duck in first, then he followed her, closing it fast and then peeking out the window. It didn't appear they'd been observed.

He turned around. Kate was in the middle of going through some clothing from one of the bags, apparently feeling better. She froze at the look on his face, then glanced at Casey and back to him. "What happened?" she asked, immediately discerning the emergency.

"They know she's here," Sawyer told her. "Cops are right outside."

"With my stepdad," Casey added, in tears.

Kate slowly laid down the shirt she was folding. Her eyes met Sawyer's. They stared at each other, meaningfully, not saying anything, as the knowledge of what they had to do passed between them. It was clear to both of them that leaving her was no longer an option. Casey watched this, feeling left out, but still awed by the way the two of them could have a conversation completely without words.

Seeming to come to some kind of decision, Kate looked down at the floor sadly and then closed her eyes for a second. Drawing strength from somewhere, she grabbed another bag and began searching through it.

"Casey, do you know how to use a gun?" she asked evenly.

"What?" Casey said, alarmed. "No!"

"Then this is probably a good time to learn," Kate said.

"Give her the pistol," Sawyer said.

Nodding, Kate drew the smaller gun out and held it toward Casey.

"I... I don't want it," she protested, backing away.

Kate sighed impatiently, but Sawyer spoke before she got a chance. He was looking out through a slit in the curtains. "There's someone else with 'em now... a woman."

Casey looked around, hopeful. "Let me see." She peered through the narrow space. "It's my mom!" she exclaimed, choking back tears. "My mom's out there... She's wearing my sweater, too." She laughed a little, wiping her face on her sleeve.

"Casey," Kate said, trying to get her attention. "We need to get out of here, now, before they start searching the building. You don't know how dangerous this is." As if to prove her point, she handed Sawyer another gun, keeping the third for herself. Casey looked at the weapons with horror.

Kate moved toward Sawyer, consulting with him in a low, urgent tone. "Most of this stuff we can leave here... You take the envelope with the money," she said, handing it to him. "Make sure you have the keys to the truck out before we get down there. We won't have time to change the license plate, but they're all in the back, so we can stop soon and..."

"Wait!" Casey suddenly shouted, cutting her off.

They both looked at her.

"I don't want you to do this," she said in a desperate voice.

"I don't understand," Kate said slowly. "I thought this was what you wanted."

"I did! But... not like this. I don't want you guys to risk everything for me! That's..." She paused. "That isn't fair. You shouldn't have to do that."

Kate moved toward her. "If we stay in here, they'll find us eventually. The only chance we have is to leave _now_. Do you understand that?"

Casey waited a second before speaking. "Not if I go out there," she whispered.

"What?" Kate looked confused.

"If I go out there and turn myself in, they won't bother to look anymore, right? _I'm _the one they're looking for. Otherwise, my parents wouldn't be here."

"But I thought... I thought you didn't want to go back," Kate said, trying to understand.

"I know... But... I was thinking about what you said. About how I should tell my mom, and see what happens. And I think maybe... maybe I should give it a shot. You know, just to cover all the bases."

Kate's face softened. "That's really what you want to do?"

Casey took a deep breath. "Yeah."

Kate smiled a little. "I think that's a really good idea."

"Backup just got here," Sawyer said in a worried tone, looking out. "Two more squad cars."

Kate tensed up, and he met her eyes again.

"I'll go right now," Casey said, sounding terrified. Looking around, she seemed to remember something, and she took her jacket off. "Guess I better give this back," she said quietly.

She started toward the door, hesitantly.

"Wait a second," Kate said. She turned to Sawyer. "Where's your aunt's number? Do you have it with you?"

Looking mystified, he dug his wallet out and searched through it as quickly as he could.

"Hurry," Kate urged him. Finally, he pulled out a scrap of paper and handed it to her. Grabbing a pen from the nightstand, she ripped a section from a takeout menu and copied down the number hastily.

Holding it out to Casey, she told her, "This is the phone number of his aunt... She'll know how to get in contact with us. Just in case."

Casey took it, seemingly in disbelief that anybody would trust her to such an extent. "I thought you said you were too selfish to help anybody."

Kate looked amused. "Well, I didn't say we'd call you back."

Casey smiled. "Thanks," she said, stuffing the number into her pocket. She started to leave, but then turned and threw her arms around Kate's neck. Kate was startled at first, but then hugged her back. Finally letting go, Casey whispered into her ear as she pulled back, "I think you'll make a good mom."

She turned away before she could see the expression on Kate's face, pausing at the door to get her bearings.

"Good luck, kid," Sawyer said, with sincerity.

She smiled at him nervously, and then opened the door and went out, closing it behind her.

Kate moved over to the window, and they both watched with apprehension as she disappeared from view for a second and then reappeared moving across the parking lot toward the group. The first one to recognize the girl was her mother, who paused in shock before uprooting herself and racing toward her daughter. She smothered her with embraces, and even from the distance of the room, it was clear that both of them were sobbing. The stepfather kept his distance, looking on with a strangely worried expression. The cops seemed relieved, and vaguely bored, as if they were accustomed to cases involving runaways ending like this.

Sawyer glanced over at Kate. She was smiling, but there were traces of tears on her face. He let the curtain drop, and she looked up at him.

"You don't think they'll bother to check the rooms now, do you?" she asked him.

"Nah," he said. "They got what they came for."

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Kate said, in a reassuring voice. He had to smile. It was the exact same thing Casey had just said about her.

"Yeah," he agreed. "She'll be all right."

She sighed deeply and tried to relax. "That was a close one, huh?"

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "Seems like a pretty average day for us."

She laughed a little. "That's true." She looked around. "Did you get the crackers?"

He rolled his eyes and lifted the bag from the chair. "Right here."

"Thanks," she said, watching as he put it back down. "I guess I should eat, and then after they clear out, we should probably get going." She didn't look at all enthusiastic about this plan.

"I got a better idea," Sawyer said, watching her. She looked at him curiously.

"How 'bout we just take the day off, hole up here for awhile. It's one nasty son-of-a-bitch out there, and I don't know if you're aware of this or not, but my truck don't like to drive in the rain."

"She doesn't?" Kate asked, playing along.

"Nope," he said. "In fact, nothin' pisses her off more."

"Well, we wouldn't want to piss her off after she's gotten us this far."

"I'll be sure to pass along the compliment," he said gallantly.

Kate shook her head at how ridiculous this conversation was, then she leaned against him lightly, turning her head toward the window. She parted the curtain again, just a narrow gap, and they both stood and looked out, watching the scenes of the outside world continue to unfold without them.


	9. Chapter 9

Before I forget, someone asked a few weeks ago about the "one with all the birds" from IH. That will be coming up way later in the fic, and it'll be the most pivotal moment in the story (it also gets me kind of emotional just thinking about it, when I haven't even written it yet), so I hope it'll be worth the wait. ;)

And **amy**: You're right that morning sickness doesn't have to happen in the morning, it can happen all day or only at specific times (my mom's was in the evening, for instance.) But the majority of women do most of their throwing up in the first few hours after they wake up. Fun topic, huh? Lol...

This chapter is very long.. it took me two days to write it, and I hope you guys enjoy it! After this, things will take a little darker turn for awhile.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

"Does that feel any better?" Kate asked. She stood behind Sawyer, who was sitting on the bed. With two fingers from each hand, she pressed firmly against his temples and rubbed in circles.

"No," he said, wrinkling his brow. "Pretty sure you're makin' it worse."

She dropped her hands, exasperated. "I can't be making it worse."

"It's _my _head," he told her, turning halfway around to look at her. "You think I don't know whether it feels worse or not?"

"Fine," she said. Picking up a towel from the dresser, she went back to drying the ends of her hair. "I'll stop. But you're not taking any more aspirin. You know you can overdose on that stuff?"

He started to roll his eyes, but then cringed as if the movement hurt him. Dragging himself back toward the pillows, he collapsed onto them with a muffled groan.

Kate sighed. "It's just a headache, Sawyer. Do you have to act like you're dying?"

He raised up slightly to glare at her. "Would it be too much to ask for a little sympathy?"

"_Sympathy_?" she repeated, sitting down in the chair near him and starting to tug her shoes on. "I've been throwing up every morning for the last week. I'm not sure I really have any _sympathy _left."

"And how the hell is that my fault?"

She paused in tying her shoe to look at him.

"Don't answer that," he said with a faint, crooked grin.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" she went on after a few seconds. "I just don't know how to help you. I've done everything I can think of. What more do you want?"

"I don't want anything," he said, sounding disappointed in her. He pressed his hands over his eyes as if to block out the light, which was already dim with the curtains drawn.

Pulling her feet up into the chair, Kate hugged her knees against her and watched him thoughtfully. Then, an idea seemed to strike her. "Wait a minute. I bet I know what this is."

He moved his hands just enough to squint at her, but he didn't say anything.

"Remember the last time you were having headaches? It was your vision that was the problem. You know, you should probably be wearing those glasses that Sayid made you." She tried her best to keep any trace of amusement out of her tone.

"Go to hell," he muttered bitterly, covering his eyes again.

"Sawyer, I'm serious! You have bad eyesight! And with all the driving you've been doing lately, it's no wonder that..."

"It ain't the same kind of headache, all right?" he interrupted her, with anger. "But thanks a heap for the _theory _all the same, sugar."

She closed her eyes in an effort to stay calm. When she opened them again, she said, "There's a park down the street. We passed it coming in, remember? I think it had a walking trail. The fresh air might do you good."

"It's raining."

Leaning back in the chair, she pulled aside a corner of the curtain. "It's only sprinkling."

In answer, he gave her a contemptuous look and rolled over, facing away from her.

"_Okay_," she said under her breath, standing up. "But I'm still going. I have to get out of this room. Walking sounds like the best thing in the world right now."

"Take your time," he said to her.

She stared hard at his back.

"I will."

When he didn't say anything else, she grabbed her jacket and went out.

* * *

Kate walked quickly toward the park, with her head down, hearing an echo in her mind. _Take your time_. Sawyer's words had been like a bucket of cold water thrown over her, although realistically, she knew she shouldn't have been surprised, considering the way the conversation had been going. But what she'd really expected to hear was a protest followed by a litany of the dangers that faced her, or even an outright refusal to let her go. At the very least, she was prepared to listen to a warning to be careful, accompanied by a worried look and a lingering touch. She'd grown so accustomed to this kind of response from him that to be brushed off, practically _gotten rid of_, made her whole world feel off-kilter.

It took only a few minutes to reach the park, which was empty on such a cold, wet afternoon except for one elderly man walking a cocker spaniel near the hedges. The sky hung low and heavy, the grayness seeming to seep into everything Kate's eyes fell upon. The trees were bare and dripping, and she walked absently through sodden piles of brown leaves, letting her mind wander.

The quiet was so profound as to be almost intimidating. Passing cars made a hissing noise on the wet pavement, but other than that, the only sound came from her own footsteps. It had been nearly five hours since Casey left, and already her absence could be tangibly felt. She'd been with them for less than a week, though it seemed like longer. Kate knew she would be lying to herself if she said that she would miss having the girl around, but it had been nice, in a way, to have somebody else to interact with. She was so accustomed to Sawyer, and knew the ins and outs of his character so well, that it was strangely invigorating to come in contact with someone so entirely different. Because of the way she was forced to live, she very rarely got close to people, and so when someone caught and lodged in the current of her life before being swept on again, they were invested with an interest, an importance, that they might not otherwise have had. She hoped with all her heart that Casey would be okay.

Trying not to think about the girl's bewildering last words to her, or what she had meant by them, Kate crossed a bridge over a small stream and quickened her pace. The simple motion of walking was wonderful. She could feel her muscles both stretching and relaxing at the same time. Looking up at one of the park's tallest oaks, she was seized with the sudden urge to climb it, to elevate herself above this complicated world and to look at things from a higher vantage point. As always, she preferred action over thought. Her breath came faster as she tilted her head back and contemplated doing it. The old man with the dog turned to look at her, almost as if he suspected her aims and wanted her to know that he thought she was crazy. She gave him a small smile. Checking her momentary impulse, she walked on.

As she moved, she wondered vaguely what was wrong with Sawyer. He was such a baby about even the smallest amount of pain that it was impossible to know whether his problems were serious or not. He would complain just as much about a bee sting as he would about a severed limb, she thought with sarcasm. Were all men like that, or was it just him? She'd promised herself after his last cold, back at the house in Tennessee, that she'd make an effort to do better the next time he was sick. After all, he tried so hard to take care of her that the discrepancy in their behavior wasn't really fair. But yet here she was again, getting annoyed with him because he'd ruined their first day alone together this week. And just when she was finally starting to feel better, too. It figured.

She didn't want to come across as insensitive, or immune to his suffering. It was just that when he looked at her with those eyes filled with such a vague, indefinable _need _for something, she felt stirrings of panic deep within her. She didn't have any idea what he expected from her, or why he wouldn't tell her. What was she supposed to do? What the hell did he _want_?

With these thoughts weighing on her, she finally slowed her steps and sank down onto a bench near the sidewalk. It was refreshing to be alone for a change, but she had forgotten how her worries and insecurities tended to band together and come at her en masse whenever she was quiet enough to give them the chance. She kept her past in one locked corridor of her mind, and her uncertain future in another. The present, however, was more difficult to confine.

The old man walked past her, the dog briefly sniffing at her shoe but then hurrying on without stopping. The man let himself be pulled along, nodding once at Kate, gallantly touching the brim of his brown cloth hat, which was beaded with droplets of moisture. She noticed a tarnished wedding band on his finger, but his eyes were sad. As she watched him walk away down the street, she felt a disquieting sense of loss. They hadn't even spoken to each other, but the park now felt emptier with only one person in it. She wondered what he was going home to. A warm, lighted house, where someone would kiss his cold cheek and take his jacket and order him to sit down and have some coffee? Or would he walk instead into a dark room, where the hum of a refrigerator and the sound of the dog shaking the water from her coat would be the only sounds to greet him? Disturbed by the image, Kate turned her head away before he disappeared from view.

From the other direction there came the squeal of wet brakes as a bus slowed down and then stopped, followed by a whoosh of air as the door opened in front of her. She realized now that she'd made the mistake of sitting down at a bus stop.

The driver leaned back in his seat and looked at her with curiosity. "Gettin' on?" he called.

"No," she said apologetically, standing up. "I was just resting."

He chewed his gum for a second. "Better get on. You look like a girl that wants to go somewhere." He smiled at her, in a friendly way.

"I don't." She smiled back, but with hesitation. She suddenly felt the strongest urge to climb those three steps. The motor hummed loudly as the bus idled.

"You sure about that?" he called, giving her one last chance.

Kate had a clear vision of herself climbing onto the bus, walking toward the very back, sitting down and letting herself be carried away from here. On the other end of that vision hung the image of the stifling, tacky motel room, with Sawyer stretched out sullenly on the bed, probably asleep by now. At this moment, the invisible cord that connected her to that room felt frayed and tattered. It would snap in two with one quick tug.

"I'm sure," she called up to him. Her voice sounded falsely confident to her own ears.

The driver made a face of bemused acceptance. "All right, hon. Suit yourself." He pushed the lever and the door whooshed shut again. With a groan and a puff of exhaust smoke, the bus labored away from the curb. She watched it go, feeling like a part of herself was going with it. It was starting to rain harder now, and the drops were cold on her face.

After a few minutes, she forced herself to turn. Stuffing her clenched fists deep into her pockets, she walked back in the direction of the motel.

* * *

She pushed the door open and set the bag she was carrying on a table. "It's just me," she said quietly. Flipping the light on, she saw that he was lying in the exact spot she'd left him in. He didn't appear to have moved at all.

Pulling her jacket off, she dropped it into the chair and ventured closer to him. "Hey... you awake?" she whispered. "I got some dinner... There's a Chinese place down the block."

"Not hungry," he said without opening his eyes. He swallowed, then grimaced. "Throat feels like it's on fire."

"Your throat hurts?" she asked.

"Would you turn the damn light back off?" he asked miserably.

"It's getting really dark, Sawyer."

He pulled the pillow over his head, not even bothering to waste time giving her a dirty look.

She sighed. "All right." She flipped the overhead light back off and turned the bathroom light on instead, cracking the door so that only a pale wedge of yellow fell into the room. "There you go."

Kicking her shoes off, she turned the TV on and grabbed the food, then sat on the other bed to eat. "You sure you don't want anything?"

He ignored her.

She had just finished eating when he stirred again. "It feel cold in here to you?"

"I was about to say how _hot _it was, actually. What do you have the thermostat set on, ninety?"

Making an intense effort, he pulled himself into a sitting position, moving stiffly, like his muscles were sore. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at his socks, getting his bearings. Then he stood up and shuffled across the few feet to where she sat.

"Get up," he said hoarsely.

She stared at him, confused. "What?"

"_Get_... _up_," he repeated with emphasis, giving her a lethal look.

Feeling a slight twinge of apprehension, she stood slowly, wondering what on earth he was going to do.

He leaned over to the spot she'd been sitting in, and, grasping the bedspread in both hands, pulled with all his strength. The two sheets came along with it, and within seconds the mattress was stripped. Moving back to the other bed, he dropped this bundle onto the spot where he'd been sleeping and then climbed underneath the now-doubled pile of blankets, jerking them up around his neck and burying his head in the pillow again.

Kate watched with a curiosity that was starting to become clouded by worry. "Maybe you have a fever," she said tentatively.

She went to touch his forehead, but he ducked away in disgust. "Your hands smell like egg rolls," he muttered.

Sighing in frustration, she gave up. "Fine. I'll just leave you alone, if that's what you want."

She turned on the bedside lamp and rigged the shade so that it wouldn't bother him, then pulled the atlas out. It would probably be a good idea to plan the next day's drive more thoroughly than they'd been doing lately. She'd been slacking off in that department, and the routes they'd taken in the last few days weren't necessarily the best. The highway they'd used yesterday had been more heavily traveled than she'd expected, and they'd passed two state police cars, which was simply too much of a risk. They had to find better roads. She carefully studied every possible alternative with the attention to detail of a mathematician. Then, with a pen, she marked out a primary route, and then a secondary route in case of an unavoidable change in plans. She became so focused on her task that when she next looked at the clock, she realized that an hour had passed.

Glancing over at Sawyer, she noticed that he was breathing hard, laboring almost, as if he couldn't get enough air. Despite this, he appeared to be asleep. She marked the spot in the atlas with the pen and moved quietly over to him. As gently as she could, trying not to wake him, she reached out and laid her hand on his forehead. Immediately, she felt her body tense in a sickening wave of shock. _It felt like his skin was on fire._

She pulled her hand away, staring at him as if he'd been suddenly transformed into something unrecognizable. For a few seconds, her mind was blank. She couldn't form a single thought. Then excuses began to half-form in the shadows, excuses that she immediately brushed aside as ridiculous before they even achieved reality as options. _Maybe her hands were cold. Maybe he had a rash. Maybe it was because the room was so warm. _But it wasn't any of those things. She knew, almost instantly, that it was a fever. A fever so high that it nearly burned her hand.

Her first instinct was to ask him how he felt. She knew she hadn't really shown much interest in that particular topic all day, but now it was the only thing in the world she wanted to hear about. She shook his shoulder lightly.

"Sawyer," she whispered. "Hey... Can you hear me?"

There was no response at all. She shook him harder. "Sawyer! I need you to wake up for just a minute, okay? I need you to talk to me!"

Nothing.

He usually slept hard, but not like this. Shaking him had always elicited some kind of response, even if it was just a pissed-off groan or a hand darted out to shove her away from him. She would have given anything for that shove right now.

Standing up, she backed away from the bed, a frightened expression on her face. She turned blindly toward the door and rushed out into the cold night. It was almost completely dark now, but the streetlights cast a slick sheen on the wet pavement. Without knowing how she got there, she found herself digging frantically through the back of the truck. In the dim recesses of her mind was an image of the first-aid kit she'd made Sawyer buy before they'd camped out in the Smoky Mountains. They'd never used it, and she had no idea if there was a thermometer inside it or not, but she unconsciously grasped hold of the possibility that finding it might help her now.

Finally, she closed her hand around the case, and then hurried back up to the room.

Once inside, she dumped the contents onto the bare mattress and scattered them out. Band-aids, peroxide, even strips of gauze... She lifted the items quickly one by one, but she couldn't see anything that looked like a thermometer. She ignored a small strip of plastic until it was the only thing left in the box, and then, with no options left, she picked it up to examine it. On one side, it had a row of black squares, each labeled with a number, ranging from 94 to 108. It took her a few seconds to realize that it was a forehead thermometer - the cheap kind, and probably not terribly accurate. But it was better than nothing.

She went back over to Sawyer and sat down on the bed next to him. Brushing his hair back away from his face, she pressed the strip of plastic to his forehead and then watched it anxiously. The numbers rose quickly, each box glowing with a slightly different color. It quickly passed 98, which she knew was the average body temperature for a healthy person. It continued to travel up the row; 99, 100, 101... Kate watched in a kind of fascinated horror. 102, 103, 104... Here it stopped. She waited, tensely, but the last box to glow was the one labeled 104. She pulled it away from his head and held it closer to her face, as if that would help explain what was happening.

"This can't be right," she whispered to herself, desperately. "It _can't _be."

"Tell the jackass it's on his stupid golf course," she heard, in a muffled, almost incoherent voice.

She glanced up sharply. "What?" She leaned over him. "Sawyer. Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

"Girl's worth at least twenty mil," he said without opening his eyes. "Husband's..." he faltered. "Husband's an oil man."

Kate felt her heart sink. He wasn't really awake. He was delirious, or dreaming, or both. His words made absolutely no sense at all, and it was hard to even make out what he was saying.

She put her hand against his face, lightly, but he seemed to have lapsed back into a deeper sleep. Sitting back, she looked around the room, as if she would find something there to help her. She had absolutely no idea what to do. There were many situations, emergency situations even, in which she was fully capable of immediate, meaningful action. She knew her life had hardened her in certain ways, and she had more toughness and better survival skills than most women would ever dream of. But there were certain things that she knew she couldn't handle, things she felt hopeless against. While successfully delivering a baby had given her a measure of confidence, she felt none of it in evidence now. The situations were too completely different. How could something like that possibly help her here?

Forcing herself to move, she pulled open the shallow drawer of the dresser on which the TV sat. Inside it, there was a phone book and a Bible. She almost laughed at the juxtaposition. Were they trying to offer help for every occasion? Deciding that the phone book was probably her best bet, she grabbed it and quickly flipped through it, searching for a local hospital. There were two to choose from, and she dialed one at random, using the number of the emergency room.

A young female voice answered. "St. Andrew's. This is Sheila."

For some reason, Kate found it hard to force words out.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

"Yes... Hi. I'm, um..." After a few seconds of hesitation, she hit her stride. At least _this _part felt natural. "My name is Rachel, and I go to the community college? And I'm, um... I'm doing this paper... a research paper? Anyway, I kind of left it to the last minute, and now it's due tomorrow, and I'm really freaking out here. I was supposed to interview a nurse, but my roommate took my car and I can't get down there, so I was just wondering if it would be possible for me to talk to someone over the phone? Just a few questions, I promise."

The woman sighed. "Just a minute."

Kate heard a click, which meant she was on hold. She watched Sawyer while she waited. He was shivering slightly. She twisted the phone cord in her fingers, her eyes haunted by worry. The next click in her ear made her jump slightly.

This time, it was an older woman. She sounded tired. "This is Nurse McKinley. What were you needing to know?"

"Hi... Thank you for doing this. Basically, I just had a few questions about... fevers? Like, for instance, at one point would someone need to seek medical attention for a fever? At what point would it become really dangerous?"

"Well, it would depend on what the fever was accompanied by. On its own, it's not terribly dangerous. It's just the body's way of fighting off infection, sometimes before the person even feels sick. But if it's like this local virus that's been going around here lately, it could reach dangerous levels pretty fast."

Kate grasped at this information. "A virus?"

"Some kind of flu... Lost a four-year-old girl to it the other night. Hasn't it affected the college?"

Kate took a second to respond. "Oh... yeah. There _have _been a lot of absences lately."

"Well, it's a bad one. Early in the year for it, too. The good thing is that most people fight it off pretty fast. It hits hard in the first twenty-four hours, but then it's almost completely gone within a few days. Mostly affects the ears and throat... We haven't seen a lot of upper respiratory problems with it." The nurse paused. "But you were wanting to know about fevers?"

"Yeah," Kate said, trying to absorb all this information while maintaining a student's detachment.

"Well, for a child, you'd want to consult a doctor immediately if it went above 102, even if there aren't any other symptoms. For an adult, the absolute maximum would be about 105."

She swallowed. "And... what would happen if someone _didn't_? If they didn't go to a doctor?"

"Oh, I suppose the fever might burn itself out eventually. But the human body isn't made to withstand an internal temperature that high. If it lasts long enough, it could cause seizures, brain damage... worst case scenario, a coma. I certainly wouldn't recommend it."

Kate closed her eyes. She couldn't speak for a second.

"Still there?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Thank you so much... I think that's all I needed to know."

"Well, good luck on your paper."

"Thanks," she said. Slowly, she put the phone back on the hook.

Not allowing herself to take his temperature again yet, she went into the bathroom and moistened a wash cloth with cold water. She brought it back out and pressed it against his forehead. He sighed a little, still with his eyes closed, and turned toward her, so she hoped this felt soothing. The cloth heated up almost immediately, so she turned it over to the cooler side.

After a few minutes, the entire cloth was as warm as if it had been in a microwave. She took it back to the bathroom to run it under the cold water again. On her way back out, she froze in terror at a knock on the door.

"This room was supposed to be vacated by noon!" a voice shouted from the other side. "Is anybody in there?"

"_Damn it_, Sawyer," Kate muttered under her breath. "You didn't pay for tonight?"

"I have a key!" the woman continued. "You don't open up, I'm coming in!"

"Just a second!" She looked around frantically, but she couldn't see anything incriminating laying around. The guns were all put away. She vaguely considered grabbing one, but she knew it would probably do more harm than good.

Crossing the room, she opened the door a crack, trying to obscure her face. "Hi... I'm sorry. My, um..." She stopped. "My husband is sick..." She was surprised by how natural the word felt. "So, we had to stay another night. I guess we just forgot to let you know."

The woman stared at her. She was in her sixties, with her hair dyed an unbecoming jet black. Her skin was leathery and she smelled like cigarettes. "Well, you're just lucky nobody else booked the room."

"Kate!" The voice startled her. She turned toward Sawyer.

"Cops..." he muttered. Now his eyes were open, and he was looking toward the door blindly. "Cops are here..."

"No," she whispered loudly, shaking her head at him, trying desperately to get him to shut up. "They're not. It's okay."

The woman poked her head around the door with a nosy curiosity.

"I'll blow their goddamn brains out if they come anywhere near you," he said breathlessly.

Kate felt a touch of panic. "Sawyer," she said, going nearer to him. "Shhh.."

She looked over at the motel manager. "He doesn't know what he's saying. He's got a pretty high fever. I think he might be delirious."

"Sounds like he ought to be in a hospital, then," the woman said, crossing her arms.

"No," Kate protested, quickly. "It's just the flu, and I've, um... I've got everything under control. He'll be fine." She tried to reassure herself as much as the manager.

The woman stared at her coolly. "I don't want anyone dying in my motel."

Kate looked at her in horror. "He's not going to _die_," she said in an angry voice. Then she changed her tone and moved a step nearer to the woman. "Look, I promise I'll call an ambulance if things get really serious... but, he hates hospitals, and... and it's just a virus. It's not as bad as it looks. Please let us stay here."

The woman seemed to be relenting.

"Please?" Kate tried again.

She sighed. "It's eighty bucks for the night."

"_Eighty_?" she repeated, surprised.

"You've got two beds, don't you?" The woman looked at the stripped mattress pointedly, with raised eyebrows, as if she wanted to know what _that _was all about. Kate didn't feel like explaining. She went to get the cash. As she dug out the envelope, she began to understand why Sawyer was so pissed about money all the time. Until now, she hadn't even been aware of how much these shitty rooms cost.

"Here you go," she said, handing over the bills to the woman. "I'm really sorry about this."

The woman sighed and turned to go. "Don't forget what I said. I've got enough to worry about here without corpses in the beds. All right?"

Kate tried to stay calm. She had a very tempting vision of herself giving the woman a broken nose, and of how good that would feel. "I understand," she said.

Glancing once more at Sawyer and shaking her head wearily, the manager left the room.

Kate immediately went to the door and re-locked it, flipping the bolt with relief. She turned and leaned against it, looking over at Sawyer. "When you get to feeling better, I'm gonna kill you for that," she whispered in a strained, only half-joking voice.

She decided to check on his temperature again, hoping against hope that it would have dropped by now.

It hadn't. It was exactly the same. 104. One degree less than the maximum danger point, according to Nurse McKinley. Trying hard not to let fear overcome her, she pulled the blankets up further around him. Even in sleep, he couldn't seem to get warm. She decided to check his temperature every half hour. Once she'd settled on this, there seemed to be nothing left to do but to watch him, and to wait.

So she waited. She turned the thermostat up even higher for his benefit, then stripped down to just a tank top when she started sweating. She tried to make him sip water from a bottle, but grew alarmed when he started coughing. She continued to re-wet the cloth and press it to his forehead. She watched him carefully for any sign of change.

The minutes seemed to creep by interminably. Each one felt like an hour. Each hour felt like a week. She stopped watching the clock because she was afraid she would lose her mind. She turned the TV up and tried to concentrate on something, but she didn't even know what she was watching. The noise seemed to irritate Sawyer, anyway, so she turned it off completely and went back to watching him.

Once or twice an hour, he would mumble something incoherent. Every time, she tried desperately to make out what he was saying, to respond to him, hoping that this time he was really awake. But the words meant nothing to her. They were fragmentary, disconnected. He mentioned the root cellar at one point, and Gus, and Charlie's guitar. He said something about a Playboy, and then later, something about being deported. He muttered names she'd never heard before; Jess, Julia, Hibbs. He seemed distressed over something about shrimp, and he kept repeating that he was sorry. She wished she had some idea of what he was talking about. All she could do was lean over him, whisper to him, and try to soothe him as well as she could.

His temperature fluctuated unevenly. For a while, it remained 104. Then it dropped to 103, then the next hour, 102. She began to have hope, to think that the worst was over. Some of the tension left her body, and she relaxed a little.

The next time she pressed the plastic strip to his forehead, it read 104 again. There it remained, not showing any signs of dropping lower. She let the dread seep back into her.

She couldn't get over how fast this had happened. He'd started out with a mild headache this morning (or was it yesterday morning? she thought with confusion, looking at the clock), but that was all. There had been no warning that he would get this sick, and no way to prepare for it. He hadn't complained of any stomach problems, and thank God for that, because one was enough, out of the two of them. But it didn't seem to be the other standard kind of flu either, with wheezing and coughing. It was like a surprise attack, leaping on him unawares while they'd both been focused on _her _health. How ironic that he would get sick now, when she'd been feeling so bad all week. "Maybe I _do _just have the flu," she said to herself, somewhat startled. For some reason, the idea wasn't at all reassuring to her, although it should have been.

In the still, quiet hours of watching Sawyer, her mind started to turn against her, unconsciously piling up details of everything he had done for her in the past. Not just the big things - letting her stay at his house, attempting to dig shards of metal out of her arm, risking everything to drive her across the country. But also the small, everyday details that she'd come to take for granted; the way he let her steal the covers without even trying to get them back, the way he paid (after the requisite sarcastic remark, of course) for anything she wanted him to buy, the way he was so solicitous when she was sick, and his eagerness to do anything to make her feel better. Like the crackers, for instance. Those, and a hundred other things now came back to haunt her. She remembered the way she'd been treating him all day, hearing her own voice in her mind, all the off-handed complaints and bitchy comments. _Do you have to act like you're dying? What more do you want? What do you have the thermostat set on, ninety? _For the first time, she let herself dwell on the possibility that she didn't deserve him.

The silence of the room began to weigh on her emotions. It was suffocating. The only sounds came from other rooms or the lobby - the thump of receding footsteps; the sharp laugh of a man, probably drunk; the warbling, drowned-out noise of someone else's TV turned up too loud. The sounds faded in and out, with an echoing, distorted quality, as if they came from another dimension instead of just another room.

In a sense, they did. Kate felt herself, and Sawyer as well, to be as far removed from that reality - the reality of other people - as if they were ghosts revisiting the scene of their former lives. It was a kind of isolation that was total and all-encompassing. But up until tonight, it was an isolation they had shared with one another. It had been so long since she'd experienced this kind of aloneness that she had forgotten what it was like. As she watched him tossing and turning, suffering, as the anxiety wore away at her, as she struggled to keep her eyes open into the early morning hours, not allowing herself to lose focus on him for even a second, she began to desperately crave the sound of a comforting voice. She had never felt so alone in her life.

With a sense that she needed to do _something _to make the minutes go by faster, she decided to eat a few of the crackers that she'd never remembered to open earlier. After all, it was getting closer and closer to the hour when it would begin to get light outside, and she didn't know whether she would get sick again or not. Would it matter that she'd stayed up all night? She didn't know, but it was obvious that they couldn't both be sick at the same time. Just the thought of it made her nervous. She went to get the bag he'd brought in from the convenience store.

The two bottles of vitamins rolling around underneath the box of saltines caught her attention. She lifted them out, examining the labels in the dim light. It slowly dawned on her what they were, and who they were for. Without any explanation at all, she knew exactly why he'd bought them. All her guilt redoubled and came back at her with full force. The words blurred before her eyes, and she dropped them back into the sack and quickly covered her eyes with her hand, her face crumpling with held-back emotion. She stood there for a few seconds without moving, then she drew in a trembling breath, and without another thought, moved toward the phone.

It was weak, and it was stupid, and it was cowardly, she knew. But she didn't think she could bear this by herself for another second. She was afraid she was going to break down. If she couldn't have Sawyer, then there was only one other person she wanted to talk to.

She dialed the area code and number by memory, fast, trying not to analyze what she was doing. Letting herself sink down onto the edge of the bed, she waited with apprehension, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths. The phone on the other end rang. It rang again, and again, and again. Without realizing it, she tightened her grip on the receiver and closed her eyes tightly, willing him to answer with all her might.

After six rings, there was a click. She tensed up, hopefully.

"Hi, this is Dr. Jack Shepard, and I'm sorry I'm not able to take your call right now, but if you leave your information at the beep, I promise to get back to you as soon as I possibly can."

At the sound of his voice, she had a split second of relief, but then she immediately plunged back into disappointment when she realized it was only a recorded message. She waited through the beep, thinking that by some miracle he might still pick up, but there was nothing. She took a breath, but stopped herself from saying anything, knowing what a bad move it would be. After a few seconds of silence, she lowered the phone from her ear and replaced it back on the hook with a shaking arm.

With her elbows balanced on her knees, she leaned over onto her hands. _It was for the best, anyway_, she tried to convince herself. _It was a stupid idea. You're lucky he wasn't there. _Still, she worked hard not to burst into tears in sheer despair.

"Where the hell were you at?" came faintly from the other bed. She raised her head up, wondering if she was starting to imagine things or if he was just hallucinating again.

She got up slowly and went to his side. "I'm right here," she said in a quiet voice.

"Where were you? I looked damn near everywhere..." he complained.

She felt the now familiar weariness of trying to make sense out of his ramblings. "I didn't go anywhere," she said, sitting down next to him and putting her hand on his burning shoulder. "I've been right here."

"Couldn't even stick around to say goodbye," he said, bitterly. His eyes were still closed.

She peered at him, confused, but with a faint inkling of what he might be referring to. Something about his words struck a chord in her memory. "What?" she asked.

"They all had someone there... A hug, or a pat on the back... or just a damn handshake. You think I got any of that?" He turned his head restlessly on the pillow, and his eyelids fluttered. He seemed to be trying to focus on her. "Hell, no. Why would I? You musta had other plans." His face contorted with pain, and he stopped trying to move his neck.

She swallowed. "Are you talking about... _about the raft_?" she whispered. "Sawyer, that was months ago."

"Thought you might show up at the last minute." His voice was weak, and it looked like he was fading back into sleep again. This one burst of recollection had taken what little strength he had. "Shoulda known better."

But Kate still felt the need to justify herself, to explain to him what had happened. "I _did _look for you," she told him, almost pleadingly. "I looked for you before we went to get the dynamite, but you weren't there. Nobody knew where you were."

He didn't move or respond. "Sawyer," she said. It was clear he hadn't heard her. "I'm sorry."

Leaning over onto his chest, she whispered hopelessly into the silent room, "I'm so sorry."

The heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt reminded her that she needed to check his temperature again. With exhaustion, she pulled herself up and reached for the thermometer. Pressing it to his forehead, she felt the overpowering urge to pray to something that she didn't even know if she believed in. It couldn't still be 104, could it? It just wasn't possible. It _had _to have gone down by now.

"Please," she muttered to herself quietly as the boxes began to glow. "_Please_..."

The color reached 104 again. She continued to press it against him. It went up to 105. She clenched her teeth in agony and kept her eyes glued to the squares. It stopped at 106.

With a gesture of frustrated rage, she pulled the strip away from his head and threw it as far across the room as she could. She could feel her throat constricting as hot tears began to course down her cheeks. But anger was better than fear. "What's wrong with you?" she asked him desperately. "Why aren't you _fighting this_? You know I can't go into a hospital! You know I can't," she cried. "I can't go with you."

Sliding weakly off the bed, she kneeled against it in an attitude of prayer, pressing her head against his midsection. Her choked sobs were the only sound to be heard.

She now knew exactly what she had to do. There were no other options. The thought of being inside a hospital filled her with a terror she couldn't even begin to describe. It was one thing to come in contact with random people during the day; a waitress, an old man walking a dog, a bus driver. It wasn't exactly safe, but it was a negligible risk. If anybody like that recognized her, she would probably be out of their presence before they could do anything about it. But a hospital was different. She would have to stay there, cornered, waiting. There would be people everywhere, hordes of them swarming around her. Not only doctors and nurses, but receptionists, guards, janitors, other patients, visitors... It was too much. She dreaded hospitals for another reason as well, for their psychological associations. After all, look what had happened the last time she'd gone to one. But even _that _wouldn't have deterred her from accompanying Sawyer. The danger, however, was simply too real.

The only choice she had was to call an ambulance, and then get the hell out of here. And right now, it felt like the hardest thing she'd ever been faced with.

Even though she told herself that it would all would work out all right, she had no faith that it would. She could wait around town for him, but things had a way of happening, and nothing ever turned out as simple as it was supposed to for her. In some ways, she didn't know if she could trust herself, and maybe that was the scariest thing of all. She had a premonition that was almost a certainty that if the two of them separated now, they would never see each other again.

But it was either that, or his life. The nurse's words echoed in her mind. She knew that if his temperature stayed that high, he wouldn't make it through without medical attention.

She leaned against Sawyer, feeling all her energy being sapped just at the moment when she needed it most. She couldn't seem to make herself move, but the call had to be made, immediately. In her mind, she saw herself going toward the phone over and over again, then she realized each time, with a sensation of vertigo, that she hadn't gotten up yet. _Just a few more minutes_, she promised herself. She just wanted a few more minutes with him. That was all. Her breathing began to slow down.

Again, she lifted the phone and tried to dial. She couldn't see the numbers, and she tried harder to focus on them. With a jerk, she became aware, once again, that she hadn't moved yet. Her neck felt stiff, and Sawyer's t-shirt was soaking wet against her face. Had she cried that much? she wondered with confusion. Lifting her head up with an effort, she noticed that his entire shirt was wet, not just the part she'd been pressed against. She allowed her bewildered gaze to travel up to his face. His hair was soaked too, and his face was pale now, the glow in his cheeks diminished.

Kate glanced at the clock. "Oh, my God," she said, pulling herself up hastily. "No no no... Oh, God." Almost an hour had passed. What the hell had happened? Had she _fallen asleep_?

With a renewed desperation, she moved as quickly as she could to the phone, knowing that this was the real thing as she grasped the cold, hard plastic in her hand. She started to dial, pushing the 9 and then the 1. Just before she pressed the 1 for the third time, she paused and looked up at Sawyer again. Her hand hovered over the buttons, and she bit her lip thoughtfully. Wasn't profuse sweating the first sign of a fever breaking? Could it possibly be that the crisis was past?

Deciding to give it a shot, she hung the phone back up and looked for the thermometer. At first, she couldn't locate it. Damn it, why had she thrown the stupid thing? She felt like kicking herself. Finally, she found it, underneath the chair. Taking a deep breath, she pressed it to his damp forehead. Even before the squares began to glow, she could feel with her own hands how much cooler he was. The last number to light up was 99. It was a faint, refreshing blue. She waited with apprehension for it to climb higher, but it didn't.

Peeling it away from his sticky skin, she laughed a little, but it was a laugh that was mixed with tears of relief.

The sound of her voice seemed to rouse him. He opened his eyes again, and this time he looked directly at her. His gaze was tired, but no longer glassy or diluted by fever. His first move after seeing her was to shove the blankets away from him. "Christ, what are you tryin' to do, suffocate me?"

"_You _put those there," she told him, but she couldn't help smiling.

"What time is it?" he asked. He didn't seem to know what had happened.

"It's 5:30 in the morning. You've had a really high fever all night. I thought I was gonna have to call an ambulance." At the words, she swallowed back emotion again.

"You serious?"

She nodded, somewhat amused. "Yeah. But you're only at 99 right now, so I think you're past the danger point." She took a deep, shaky breath, and let it out in relief, finally letting herself believe in the reality of those words.

He looked at her more closely. "What's a' matter? Were you worried, Freckles?" he asked.

"Was I _worried_?" she repeated, incredulously, still with a trace of tears in her voice. She leaned closer to him. "Sawyer, I was scared to death."

From the look on her face, he must have been able to see the truth of these words. She could see his expression gradually becoming one of contentment, almost of fulfillment. Kate suddenly realized, with a flash of insight, that this was all he'd wanted from her. He closed his eyes with a satisfied air, muttering something about how he'd never felt so wiped out in his life. Within seconds, he was asleep again.

But this time, she wasn't worried. This would be a deep, restful sleep - one that he actually needed.

Nuzzling against his neck, she closed her eyes in profound, genuine thankfulness. Since he was safely asleep and couldn't hear the words, she breathed into his ear, "_I love you_."

To her surprise, he brought his arms up weakly around her. Soon, they were both asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**spinx:** I'm not sure about Sawyer having a birthday, since it might seem redundant after Kate's in IH, but they do have Christmas coming up. Actually, we're about caught up with them in terms of time right now - it should be mid-November in the fic as well. I started it in May, when it was September for them, and now we'll probably pass them. And that was your useless dose of information for today!

Thank you a million times for reading, everybody!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Sawyer was in a place he had never seen before. It was a dark landscape, with ominous clouds scudding across the sky, and a strong, howling wind buffeting him from all directions. On one side of the flat tidal rocks he was standing on, ocean waves pounded in surges, sending up a fine spray of mist. That part looked vaguely familiar. On the other side, though, where a beach should have been, there was a series of low, gray foothills, angular and sharp, free of any vegetation. Everything was gray - the sky, the low mountains, even the water. It was a place devoid of any life, color, or hope.

Then his vision snagged on one bright patch, off to the side. It was Kate, wearing red, climbing one of the highest rocks.

Dazed, he moved toward her, the distance seeming to recede and stretch out as he got nearer.

"What the hell are you doin' up there?" he called out. The shrieking wind caught his voice and stole all of its volume, rendering the sound tinny and inconsequential to his own ears.

But she must have heard it, because she turned, as if forcing herself, with regret. Even though she was far, far above him, he could discern her features as clearly as if she were only inches away. He saw her face as a whole, not divided into disparate segments as he perceived it normally, but as one integrated, inevitable form, complete in its beauty, like a painting. It was both familiar and strange at the same time. Her eyes were a deep, soothing gray-green, quiet and sad against the blazing red of her shirt. She looked at him with sorrow.

"Get down from there!" he shouted against the wind, alarmed at how high up she was.

She seemed to consider his words for a moment.

"I can't," she said, not in a loud voice, although he heard her words with perfect clarity.

"Why not?" he yelled back, not understanding.

"There's no way back down," she said. "I just have to keep climbing up. It's where the birds are."

"_What_!" he demanded. As hard as he tried, he couldn't seem to make any sense out of what she was saying.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Before he could reason with her further, he was distracted by a new noise, first mingling with and then separating from the wind, lifting itself up and swirling around him. It was the sound of a baby crying. Over the clamor of the wind and the waves, it faded in and out like a bad radio signal.

"What _is _that?" he asked her, glancing around in bewilderment. "You hear it?"

She heard something. Lifting her head up, she gazed out toward the water with a fearful, hunted expression. Her hair whipped around her.

"Where's it coming from?" Sawyer repeated, more insistently, trying to get her attention.

She looked back down at him, guilt written all over her face. She appeared trapped.

He felt a cold dread begin to seep into him. "What did you do?" he asked in a low, frightened voice.

She continued to stare at him, not moving. Their gazes were locked in some kind of contest.

The wailing became louder, more desperate. Giving up on an answer, Sawyer reluctantly turned away from Kate, beginning to search.

The sound came from all around him, from every direction. He moved along the rocks frantically, seeking the source, jerking his head in a strained effort to listen every time the noise seemed to change locations. He moved from rock to rock like a madman, faster and faster as the hunt became more futile. There was no trace of anything living.

The darkness seemed to be increasing, along with the force of the wind. "Where is it?" he muttered to himself, feeling the hard edge of panic in his gut. His heart was pounding in a sickening rhythm and he felt like he couldn't catch his breath. The noise of the infant was like an accusation, focused directly on him. It cut into his soul like a knife.

"Where in God's name is it? What the hell did you _do_!"

He turned around, seeking help again in his distress. "Kate!" he shouted.

She was gone. The foothills were a uniform gray, empty of any human presence. There was no indication that she had been there at all. He looked at the space blankly.

"_KATE_!" he roared in desperation. His voice echoed off the rocks.

There was no response.

Suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch, the baby's cry was cut off in mid-wail. The howl of the wind became louder.

A strong gust launched itself against his back, forcing him to his knees to escape the relentless driving force of the air. He continued to stare at the empty spot where she had been as it grew darker and harder to see.

"What the hell did you do?" he whispered into the wind, feeling a great gulf of hopelessness closing in on him.

The landscape seemed to be dimming quickly, starting at the edges and working toward him, plunging him into complete darkness. Everything was disappearing. As he felt it begin to swallow him up, he heard the sound of the wind transform into something else. It was vague at first, hard to pinpoint, but then the noise swelled up and became substantial. It was calliope music.

He struggled out of this overwhelming blackness as noises started to separate into more definite shapes in his mind. He heard a distinct "Meep meep! Meep meep!"

"What the... ?" he muttered, opening his eyes. The water-stained ceiling of the motel room was the first thing he saw. He squeezed his eyes shut again and rolled over slightly, groaning. As he did, he noticed Kate's concerned face above him, looking down. She was leaning against the headboard, her legs stretched out in front of her on the bed, right next to him. In her hand was the remote control.

"Hey," she said quietly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said, blinking heavily. "Just had a... a really weird dream, is all." Then he squinted at the TV, confused. "Are you watchin' the _Road Runner_?" he asked.

She smiled sheepishly, a little embarrassed. "Yeah. You caught me."

He couldn't have said why the words, or the look on her face, affected him so much. Without raising his head from the pillow, he grasped her around her midsection and pressed his face to the side of her waist, underneath her arm. She felt warm and substantial and reassuringly real against him. He breathed in as deeply as he could.

"There!" she said suddenly, as if she was intent on something. "You see how he did that? That was genius... absolute _genius_."

Sawyer glanced at the TV in time to see the coyote blowing himself up.

"You know, Freckles," he began slowly, looking up at her. "I used to think this whole cartoon thing of yours was kinda cute. But now I'm pretty sure you're just using 'em to get ideas. Little disturbing if you think about it."

She smiled again. "Well, it can't hurt, right? I mean, who knows more about making a quick getaway than the Road Runner?"

Instead of answering, he kissed her waist firmly, then the spot just above the first kiss, then the spot just above that.

She ducked away a little, shuddering. "That tickles!"

With his arm still hooked around her, he pulled her down toward him, and she obliged, sliding down so that her head was on the pillow next to his.

"What was your dream about?" she asked softly, looking into his eyes.

"Don't remember," he said. That wasn't really untrue. Already, the details of the nightmare were fading away, becoming fuzzy and indistinct. The more he avoided thinking about it, the further it receded. It was now mostly just a feeling, a mood, a lingering emotional tone - not anything detailed or visual. He carefully tried not to focus on it, knowing that it wasn't anything he wanted to be more familiar with.

"You still look pale. How do you feel?"

"Good as new," he assured her. He'd spent almost all of yesterday sleeping, and by now, the virus seemed to have completely left his system. He felt weak and still somehow drained, even with all the sleep, but other than that, he was fine.

"You know, we don't have to leave today," Kate said. "I know we said we would, but if you don't feel up to it, we should stay one more night."

"Nah," he said. "I'm ready to get the hell out of this room."

She smiled a little, sympathetically. "I know the feeling." She raised up slightly. "I think I'll hit the shower before we leave, though."

Sawyer continued to stare at her, as if he was trying to figure something out. Why did he suddenly have the most unnerving sensation that she was acting a part, reciting lines? That was ridiculous... It made no sense at all. He banished the half-formed thought, knowing it was just an after-effect of his illness.

She watched him, perhaps guessing that there was something disturbing flitting through his mind. Leaning down, she kissed him lightly. Reacting on an impulse, he put his hand on the back of her neck to keep her in place and then allowed his tongue to get into the act. She let the kiss continue for a few more seconds, but then separated herself from him forcibly.

"Yeah," she said in an ironic tone as she sat up, rolling her eyes. "You're all better."

He gave her a wicked look as she headed toward the bathroom. He waited a few seconds, hearing the water start running in the shower. Once inside, she poked her head back out the door.

"Well... You coming or not?" she asked.

"Baby, I thought you'd never ask," he said lazily, pulling himself off the bed and moving toward her. She laughed as she pulled him into the room and shut the door firmly.

* * *

Thanks to the distractions of the shower, they got another late start, but since they were already making such bad time anyway, it didn't bother Kate as much as it would have a week earlier. She was just grateful to be out of the room, to be breathing in the fresh, cool air. It also hadn't escaped her notice that ever since Sawyer's illness, she herself had been the picture of health. Whatever the cause, she couldn't have been more thankful that her nausea appeared to be gone, at least for the time being.

They drove through the back roads of southern Indiana, staying on Kate's carefully mapped-out route. She'd been so careful to pick only the most obscure, out-of-the way areas that at times they found themselves on gravel roads so narrow that another car wouldn't have been able to get by them even if they'd encountered one. To Sawyer, these roads were a pain in the ass to navigate, but he could see how much more secure Kate felt when they were far from civilization, so he tried to keep from complaining as much as possible.

With the thin warmth of the mid-November sun pouring into the truck, they both felt a drowsy, simple peace in one another's presence, in just the fact of sitting beside each other, talking about unimportant things, watching the cornfields pass by. To Kate, this was something she had never really expected to feel in Sawyer's company. The fun of competition, the amusement of antagonism, the sexual tension... all these elements had been there from the beginning. The concern for each others' well-being and the most important transition of all, that of love, had both followed in their train. But it was only recently, belatedly, that she thought there might be growing between them something that would best be designated by the term _friendship_. For this to have occurred, she knew how much Sawyer had had to change, to _grow up_, in a manner of speaking. Of course, he still had some progress to make (this she thought wryly, gripping the seat, as he floored the accelerator and risked flipping them into the ditch in order to pass some jackass in an SUV who'd cut him off), but she had to admit, she didn't want him to change too much. He just wouldn't be Sawyer without the attitude.

With this line of thought came a host of associations, and the one that hooked in her mind the most prominently was the question of whether _she _had changed, as well. She knew the answer was an almost resounding _no_. With a few exceptions, she had barely taken steps to meet him halfway. There was a dark, sealed-off corner of her heart that she kept hidden at all times, even from herself. It was something that she held back, unconsciously, almost as if she was observing all this from a distance, waiting to see how things would turn out before she truly weighed in. Sawyer, despite his occasional lapses, had thrown all his chips in the pot, while she was still holding some cards in reserve. Her spontaneous whispered words to him a few nights ago only served to heighten her perception of the contrast between what she believed she felt, and what that tiny, buried part of her refused to conform to. Even when she could see the discrepancy, she didn't jump to fix it. Maybe, after all, it wasn't something she could change on her own initiative. Maybe it was something that just had to happen to her. But she was beginning to wonder, sadly, if she would ever be able to trust herself to such an extent.

But she knew it wasn't fair to him to hold so much back. Even though he rarely mentioned it, she knew, instinctively, that it was something he could sense. She could at least do him the courtesy of being open and honest about the one thing that he had a right to share with her. It was the last thing in the world she wanted to talk about, and the prospect filled her with dread, but after all, how much longer could they realistically avoid it? With every passing day, she grew more and more certain of the truth. The signs were unmistakable, and she was tired of trying to rationalize them away. More importantly, she was tired of feeling so alone and isolated with her fears. It wasn't really something she was supposed to deal with on her own, was it? She decided that it was time to bring everything to the table. With her mind made up, she settled back to enjoy the rest of the drive.

They continued traveling for another hour or so. Because of the recent time change, it was only 5:00 pm when the sun began to sink toward the horizon.

"Let's eat," Kate said suddenly. "Then we can look for a place to stay. There's a little town up here, after this turn-off."

"_Already_?" he asked, surprised. "We haven't even come fifty miles yet today."

She didn't answer.

"It don't seem like you're in any big hurry to leave Indiana, sweetheart. Thinkin' about buyin' some real estate? Saw a farm for sale back there," he went on, in a sarcastic voice.

"I just think we should take it slow for a few days, until you're back to full strength."

"I'm _at _full strength," he said scornfully. "Told you I was, didn't I? You want to arm wrestle?"

She vaguely considered saying yes, picturing how much fun it would be if she happened to beat him. But the blow to his pride would make him unbearable. "Just turn," she said. "I'm tired, whether you are or not."

"All right. But if the Children of the Corn show up tonight, I sure as hell hope you don't think I'm goin' in there after you."

He took the turn, and within a few moments, they were in a small town. They ordered fast food and looked in vain for someplace to eat. Finally, they were forced to go back out into the country a few miles, to a deserted area along the Wabash river. They parked on a gravel embankment, overlooking the water, with a suspension bridge just barely visible downstream to the left. On the opposite bank were steep, wooded bluffs, a welcome contrast to the flatter areas they'd been driving through all day.

As they ate, they looked at the river and the cabins perched high on the hills above them. The sky turned a deep, flushed pink as the sun set.

"I wonder if they rent those cabins out," Kate said idly, as if she was thinking out loud.

"Probably," he said. "Perfect little weekend retreats for Mr. Middle Manager and his girlfriend, while the wifey stays home with the kids."

"That's a little cynical, don't you think?" She paused. "Then again, I guess you would know."

He gave her a dirty look, and then went back to eating.

Kate continued after a moment, casually. "I bet they're pretty expensive. Even for just one night."

"Cost more than they're worth, that's for damn sure." He swallowed the bite he was chewing, and then looked at her, suspicious. "Why?"

"No reason. I was just curious. Of course, it's obvious that _we _don't have the kind of money to spend on something like that. Motels are more anonymous, anyway. Much safer."

"What makes you think that we don't have that kind of money?"

"Well, you're the one who's always saying we have to be careful what we spend."

"Are you callin' me cheap?" he asked defensively.

"No!" she protested in an innocent tone. "I'm just saying that you're right. Until we get to Canada, everything we have is at stake, so it's not like we can have the luxury of fireplaces and wine and... and_ hot tubs_," she said, like she thought the very idea was absurd. "I mean, can you imagine?"

Sawyer didn't answer for a few seconds. Kate waited, expectantly.

"Nobody ever said we had to stay in the motels every single night. Did I say that?"

"No, but..."

"Because I don't remember that bein' part of the rules for this little _road trip _of ours."

"It's not a rule, it's just... more _practical_."

"Well, maybe I'm _tired _of being practical. You ever think of that?"

"It doesn't matter anyway, because I'm sure the rental office is closed by now. Even if we wanted one for tonight, we couldn't get it."

"Maybe so. But it just so happens I know how to pick a lock, and I'm pretty sure you're an expert in that field as well."

"You _really _want to stay in one of those things that bad?" she said, like she couldn't believe it.

"Already made up my mind, so you might as well just give up the arguing, princess. Not gonna do you any good."

"Fine," she said turning aside. "I fold." She bit her lip in an effort to keep from smiling at her triumph. God, that was so _easy_.

For awhile, they didn't speak. Then Sawyer looked down at his burger in disgust. "Never thought I'd miss the taste of boar," he muttered.

Kate gave him a sympathetic look. "Your appetite isn't back to normal yet." As if this reminded her of something, she leaned over and rummaged around in the bottom of her backpack, coming back up with two orange pills. "You should probably take one of these too. It can't hurt."

"They're for _women_," he said, looking at her like she was crazy.

She tried not to laugh. "They won't make you grow ovaries or anything, Sawyer. They're just vitamins. And I don't care what you say, you're still weak."

He looked skeptical as she forced the pill into his hand and put hers in her mouth, but he eventually tossed it back in his throat and swallowed it with a drink of soda, looking pissed the whole time. "If I start tryin' to wear your clothes in the next few days, you better just shoot me," he told her.

Shaking her head in amusement, she ignored him.

Finally, she sighed deeply. "Once we get settled up there tonight, there's something... there's something we should probably talk about." She tried not to let hesitation creep into her voice.

"You gonna eat the rest of those?" Sawyer asked.

Impatiently, she handed him her fries.

Continuing, she said, "I just think... that there's no point in waiting."

Sawyer all of a sudden became absorbed in trying to open a packet of ketchup. He sounded nervous. "Why you think they gotta package these damn things like they're nuclear?"

"Sawyer," she said quietly.

"I'm serious! What the hell is the point of makin' these so hard to get into? You think those sons-of-bitches get some kind of sadistic pleasure out of it, back at their little _ketchup headquarters_?"

She sighed. "Let me do it." She leaned toward him, trying to take the small plastic packet from him.

He resisted, saying, "I got it," in a nasty voice.

As he tried to keep her from taking it, though, he squeezed too hard and the end burst open, splattering ketchup all over the front of Kate's shirt. She closed her eyes and compressed her lips in a thin line, holding her arms out away from her in irritation.

"_Shit_," he said.

"Thanks a lot," she said in low voice.

She raised her eyes to his, wondering if he would still attempt to blame this on her, but the expression on his face surprised her. He was staring at the red stain with something bordering on horror.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

Forcing himself to look away, he swallowed hard and then said quietly, "Nothin'. It just.. just reminded me of somethin', is all."

"Like what?"

"Just some stupid dream I had. Forget it... it don't mean anything."

"You dream about ketchup?" she asked, trying to lighten him up.

"Yeah," he said, with a strained smile. "All the time." He paused. "You think it'll come out?" He glanced at her stomach again, and then quickly away.

"I don't know," she said, looking down. "Like you said, I'm an expert at picking locks. Not stains." She raised her eyebrows at him as she spoke these last words, grabbing some napkins from the paper sack. "But I'll go down to the water and rinse the worst of it out, before it has a chance to set in. Want to help?"

"I think I'll just wait here. You were right... I'm feelin' a little tired all of a sudden."

"Well, I'll be right back. Then we can go up there and have a relaxing evening of breaking and entering." She smiled at him.

"Sounds like a plan."

She climbed out of the truck, getting ready to slam the door behind her.

As if he'd just thought of it, Sawyer asked her, "What'd you want to talk about?"

She looked at him, hesitating. "It can wait," she said in a soft voice.

Closing the door, she headed down the slight incline to the river, eventually moving out of view of the truck. She knelt beside the water and used the napkins to dab at the stain, but she couldn't see that it made much difference. It ended by becoming an ugly dark pink color, and to make matters worse, her shirt was now soaked and it was getting cold. She gave up when it became too dark to see what she was doing. Taking one more look at the sky, where the first stars were just beginning to come out, she started to walk back up the hill.

As she neared the truck, she kept her hands in front of the stain. For some reason, she didn't want Sawyer to see how bad it was. No point in making him feel worse. But her steps slowed in confusion as she got closer and looked into the cab.

He wasn't there.

Halting, she looked around. There were no bathrooms here; in fact, there were no buildings in evidence at all, except for the cabins perched high above them, across the river.

"Sawyer?" she said, not raising her voice too much out of a deeply ingrained caution.

She listened. There wasn't a sound at first, but then, after a few seconds, she thought she heard the crunch of gravel from the other side of the truck.

Moving in that direction, she asked with a smile in her tone, "Are you peeing over there?"

Coming around the corner of the bumper, she froze at the sight of his body lying face down on the ground.

"Sawyer?" she asked, unable to move right away. She felt like she was falling into a deep, dark pit that she'd only just recently succeeded in clawing her way out of. Was this some kind of relapse? Her mind protested against the possibility with all the strength she had left, and she felt instant tears of desperation spring to her eyes. But... was that _blood _trickling from his temple? She took a step closer, peering into the darkness.

The next thing she was aware of was a vigorous, powerful pressure that forced her to her knees. A split second later, she felt the pain on the back of her head, radiating outward.

Making every effort to turn and look behind her, she could make out, with blurred vision, a man standing a few feet away. Although she felt darkness seeping into the edges of her consciousness, she could see him well enough to remember, vividly, the moment she'd _last _seen him. It was at the bank, when she'd shot him. The image came to her instantaneously.

"Jason..." she said in a whisper, fighting to stay alert.

He walked toward her, blotting out the last dusky blue of the sky.

"Hey, _Maggie_," he said, with a vicious half-smile. "Long time no see."

The next blow came too fast for her to predict it. Her body twisted around again, and the last thing she felt was her own head hitting the gravel before the blackness closed around her.


	11. Chapter 11

I apologize for the long wait between updates this time - I think it's the first time I've gone longer than a week since I started "In Hiding." But holidays are crazy, so it couldn't really be avoided. The chapter is very long and intense though, so I hope you'll forgive me. Thanks so much for sticking with the story! And if I'm neglecting any questions, I apologize... I have to post and run. I'll try to get to them next time!

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Sawyer opened his eyes slowly, trying to ignore the dull, thudding pain radiating from the back of his head. On attempting to move his arms, he found that they were pinned behind him, held in place by a cold metal hardness he knew all too well. _Handcuffs_. They were fastened around a slender pole, which he was sitting back against. He groggily raised his chin from where it had been drooping against his chest and peered through the clumps of hair that hung down in his face. This place was cold and dark, wherever it was. The only light came from a pale, battery-powered lamp on the other side of the room. He looked up above him, into a black space that seemed to stretch on forever.

"Grain silo," he heard out of the darkness, in a subdued voice. "At least that's what I'm guessing."

It was Kate. He shook his hair out of his way and located her, sitting directly across from him, about fifteen feet away. It looked like she was in the same position he was, handcuffed to another beam, her arms behind her back. He scanned her carefully for signs of injury, immediately concerned.

"I'm okay," she assured him, before he could ask. "I've been waiting for you to wake up."

"Yeah," he said, wincing in annoyance. "Funny thing how I tend to _oversleep _when I been hit in the head by a _crowbar_."

This got a strained, tight-lipped smile from her. "I don't think it was a crowbar."

"Then what was it?"

"If I had to make a guess? The butt of a gun."

He grew more serious. "Who is it? Bounty hunters?"

Her expression changed slightly, so that it almost looked like she was trying to hide something. Unfortunately, experience had taught him to recognize that look. "No," she said. "I don't think so."

He waited, looking at her closely, knowing she was holding something back. She tried to avoid eye contact, but then finally gave in and looked at him.

"I know the guy."

Sawyer watched her, trying to decide which angle to tackle this from. His already clouded mind was flooded with competing thoughts, and he couldn't decide whether this news was a relief, or instead, an even greater danger. "You _know him_?" he echoed back to her, a little sarcastically.

"We have a history," Kate said wryly. She didn't look particularly worried, which seemed strange to him. Did she have some kind of confidence that the guy wouldn't hurt them? Because so far, the situation wasn't looking good.

Before he could question her further, they both turned toward the far end of the circular room, where the crunch of footsteps could now be heard coming from outside. A metal door was rolled back on its hinges, and then pushed shut again as a man stepped into the building. Sawyer could see that he was tall and broad-chested, probably pretty strong. He walked toward them, with deliberate casualness.

"Well... Glad to see we're all awake now," he said in a sinister, falsely pleasant voice. "Thought I might have hit you both just a little too hard." He looked at Sawyer and said confidentially, "So difficult to judge, you know?"

Sawyer only glared at him with wariness, not answering.

Next, he turned to Kate. "How's the head, Maggie?"

She kept a hard, unwavering gaze on him. "It's fine," she said in an even voice. "And I told you, my name isn't Maggie."

"_It's fine_," Jason repeated. He looked at Sawyer. "She's something, isn't she?" Shaking his head, he looked at Kate again appreciatively and muttered under his breath, "_One of a kind_."

"So," he said after a pause, still watching Kate. "How've you been?"

"Never better," she answered, still in that wry, flat tone. "You?"

"Afraid I can't say the same," he said, with exaggerated regret. "I'm sure you understand, though... What with everything that _happened_." He gave her a meaningful look. "Not even gonna ask me how my leg is?"

Kate continued to stare at him, but she didn't respond.

"Well, it's pretty good. Thanks so much for your concern. They got the bullet out... Only hurts every once in a while, when the weather changes. Other than that, it's as good as new."

"Glad to hear it."

"I'll bet you are," he said in an undertone, threateningly. His pleasant demeanor faltered.

Sawyer sensed danger in the way he was looking at her. "Hate to interrupt your little high school reunion here, but you mind tellin' me what the hell this is all about?" he finally broke in. When neither answered, he said in a lower, more insistent voice, "Kate?" She transferred her gaze to his, looking guilty.

"Ahh..." Jason said, tilting his head back in understanding, as if he'd just figured something out. "So this must be your latest. I thought he looked like your type. What have you got _this _poor bastard signed up for, huh, Mags? Kidnapping? Murder? Maybe some undercover job, where you get to wear a pretty little outfit?" As he talked, he paced back and forth contemplatively in front of her. "What's on the agenda this time?"

Kate closed her eyes for a second, miserably, but she didn't say anything.

Jason moved toward Sawyer. In a commiserating tone, he said, "Hate to be the one to break it to you, buddy, but your girlfriend here? She's not _quite _what she's made herself out to be."

"Thanks for the heads-up, _buddy_," Sawyer repeated, savagely. "But I know exactly who she is. Sorry about your leg, though." He smiled a little, maliciously.

"Oh, you think you know her?" Jason asked, ignoring the last part. He smiled. "Let me guess... And stop me if I'm wrong here," he added, putting his hand to his chin, thoughtfully. "She came across as all _hard to get _at first, right? Acted like she didn't want you around... Played the remote and mysterious card? Made you think that if you could just _crack that shell_, you'd never want anything to do with another woman in your life." He spoke slowly, bitterly. Glancing down at Kate, he went on. "Then, _just _when you were about to give up hope, she gave you one of her sob stories, right? Which one did you get? Childhood trauma? Wrongful accusations?" He stopped and stared hard at Kate, and then asked quietly, as if he was enjoying the hell out of this, "She tell you about her mom?

"Shut up," Kate said through clenched teeth. Her voice sounded shaky.

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry, sweetheart," Jason said in a bad impression of remorse. "Am I screwing up your plans here? And after all the work you probably put into him, too." He shook his head. "What a shame."

Sawyer listened to this, feeling a vague, remote wavering of his convictions. Of course he didn't _believe _it. He already knew she'd used other people, that she'd lied her way through her entire life. What they had was _different, _no matter what this pathetic bastard thought he knew. He quickly replayed in his head every instance of their past together that would support this belief. This was only a tactic, a way to mess with her, to get some kind of sick revenge, for whatever reason. He didn't have anything in common with this pretty-boy jackass. Thank God.

"Why aren't you in prison?" Kate asked Jason.

"I was," he said. "Only served a year and a half."

"How'd you manage that?" she asked, looking genuinely curious, and, Sawyer thought, a trifle _admiring_.

"Had a good lawyer." He paused, seeming a little hesitant, or maybe embarrassed. "He came up with a pretty solid defense. The judge bought it, at least."

Kate bit her lip, fighting against a smile. She nodded slowly. "I can imagine."

"Yeah?" Jason asked, beginning to get pissed.

She looked up at him, clearly amused. "He probably told them you were _misled_, right? That you were just some poor, betrayed loser who was forced into it by his domineering girlfriend?"

"You think that's funny?" he asked quietly, taking a step closer to her, his face darkening. Sawyer tensed up, recognizing the danger signs of a man at the end of his tether. Why the hell was she _egging him on_?

"How did you find her?" Sawyer suddenly asked, in order to distract him.

Jason stopped, and then seemed to consider whether or not to take the bait. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said.

"Try me."

"All right." He turned back to Kate. "You remember Nick?"

"Yeah," she said sadly. "I remember him."

"Thought you might, considering you shot him in the stomach."

"Did he...?" Kate stopped, tormented.

"He lived." Jason paused. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Kate lowered her eyes again, and Sawyer could see the overwhelming relief she felt.

"Should have listened to the stupid bastard from the beginning. He told me not to trust you... When I asked him _why_, he always said he couldn't quite put his finger on it." Jason laughed, bitterly. "Who would have thought a moron like that would have such good instincts?" He paused for a second, lost in memory, but then went on. "Anyway...With all the time he spent in the hospital, and the fact that he nearly died... His sentence was even lighter than mine. After he got out, he went back to his old hometown to recuperate." He looked at her, sharply. "I don't suppose you happen to remember where Nick was _from_, by any chance, do you, Maggie?"

He could see Kate's momentary confusion, and then her split-second recognition of what this was all about. She lowered her eyes, and with a tiny, defeated smile, shook her head. "_Indiana_," she whispered.

"Give the lady the prize," Jason said. A cold, ironic smile appeared on his lips. "That's right... Good old Jasper, Indiana."

The name struck Sawyer with familiarity, too. It was the town they'd been in when Casey had left them, and where he'd been sick. They'd stayed there for three days, only leaving this morning. "This story got a point to it?" he asked impatiently. "Or do you always have to handcuff people to get 'em to listen to your boring anecdotes?"

Jason cast him a look filled with carefully controlled hatred, but then turned back to Kate and continued. "So out of the blue, I get a phone call from Nick a few days ago. Haven't talked to him in ages, so I figured he just wanted to catch up. But, no... what he _really _wanted was to pass on some information." He looked pointedly at Kate. "See, Nick hasn't exactly had an easy time of it since you left the picture, Mags. His girlfriend dumped him... He had to settle for a shitty job and a shitty apartment... And to make matters worse, his car got repossessed. Which means, of course, that Nick has to take the bus now."

A flicker of understanding passed across Kate's face. Sawyer thought he also detected regret there.

"So, Nick tells me that on his way home from work the other day, he notices the _strangest thing _out the window. He says that he sees _Maggie_, of all people, standing out on the sidewalk at the bus stop, arguing with the driver about something." Jason looked over at Sawyer, incredulously. "Well, obviously, I told him he was crazy... that he needed to think about laying off the painkillers a little. But... he just keeps insisting that it was her. Said he'd recognize you anywhere."

Kate didn't say anything. She looked miserable.

"I knew it was a long shot," Jason said. "But I figured, what the hell? What do I have to lose? So I booked the earliest flight and got up here as soon as I could. Hung around the area for a few days, just keeping my eyes peeled. Didn't see a trace of you, though. Just like I expected." He sounded bitter, even in retrospect. "So, when I got tired of paying for the damn rental car, I decided to throw in the towel. Figured you were already long gone by then, anyway. Made it almost all the way to the airport before I had to stop and fill up the tank. And then," he stopped, smiling, as if this was truly enjoyable. "Who do I see at the gas station, in broad daylight, standing next to the ugliest pickup truck I've ever seen in my life?"

Kate was still silent. Sawyer knew exactly how she was feeling, because he felt the same way. They'd gotten too comfortable. They'd let their guard down too much. After coming so far in relative obscurity, they'd been taking their safety for granted. And this was what it got them.

"Well," Jason said, with a chilling laugh. "I guess sometimes the stars just align."

"You followed us all day?" Kate finally asked.

"Yeah. Pretty good, huh? Oh, and I should say thank you to whichever one of you had the brilliant idea to stop down there by the river, in the middle of nowhere. _Really _made my job a lot easier."

"I have to say, I'm impressed," Kate said in a flat, emotionless voice. "I wouldn't have thought you were capable of holding a grudge so long, Jason. From what I remember, you weren't capable of doing _anything _for very long."

"That so?" he asked seriously, kneeling down in front of her, his dark blue eyes glinting with a dangerous light. "Then I guess you underestimated me." His tone became threatening again. "You remember the last thing I said to you at the bank? I warned you, then, that you should have just killed me, because if you _didn't_..." He raised his arms and gestured around the dark grain silo, ominously. Turning back to her, he said, "But it's too late now, right?"

Kate swallowed, not answering. He leaned in toward her, and she turned away as far as she could, pulling against her restraints. With a strange, disturbing tenderness, Jason reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. Kate jerked her head away, disgusted.

Sawyer felt a surge of adrenaline course through him. He pulled hard against his own handcuffs, futilely.

"I've been waiting a long time for this, Maggie," Jason whispered.

Kate watched him warily, leaning back, with a trace now of real fear.

Suddenly, the tension of the moment dissipated, absurdly, with the bleeping sound of music coming from Jason's pocket. It was the _Star Wars _theme. They all froze for a moment. Kate and Sawyer glanced at each other, bewildered. Somewhat uncomfortably, Jason reached into his coat pocket and pulled his phone out.

"Nice _ring tone_," Sawyer muttered contemptuously.

Jason stood up, casting a lethal glance at him. He lifted the phone to his ear. "Yeah?" After a few seconds, he lowered it. "I have to take this," he said, slipping back into his suave, malevolent demeanor. "I'm sure you understand."

As he started to walk toward the door, Sawyer called after him, "We'll just wait here!"

Kate gave him an exasperated look. He smiled at her sardonically. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

Finally, she sighed and looked away. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

Sawyer didn't answer right away. "What the hell were you doin' at a _bus stop_?" he eventually asked.

She seemed surprised that this was the question he was opening with, but she answered it. "I thought it was a park bench."

"A _park bench_?" He looked at her like she was crazy. "You got some learning disability you haven't told me about, Freckles?"

"It was the day you got sick," she said defensively. "And I was worried. I wasn't thinking clearly."

He continued to stare at her.

"I made a mistake, okay? I'm not perfect."

"That's for damn sure," he said under his breath.

"You want to talk about mistakes? Okay, fine... Why did you even get out?" she asked in an accusing manner. "What did he say to convince you to get out of the truck, without a gun?"

"I didn't even _see _the crazy son-of-a-bitch. I was already out of the truck!"

"Why?"

"Because I was about to come lookin' for _you_... Thought you'd been gone too long, that somethin' might have happened." He sounded sullen.

Kate looked at the ground, and then back up at him, a bit sheepishly. After a second, she said, "It doesn't do any good for us to blame each other. What's done is done."

Sawyer was quiet for a minute or so. Then he raised his head back up and looked at her hard. "You sleep with that guy?"

She stared at him, obviously offended by the question. "What do you think?" she asked in a quiet voice.

He didn't answer, but only continued to watch her. "Did you live with him?"

Kate took a deep breath and let it out, annoyed, clearly not wanting to answer. "Yeah," she said, looking away.

"For how long?"

She shook her head in disbelief. "Sawyer..."

"_How long_?" he repeated, with emphasis.

She finally looked back at him, into his eyes. "Three months," she whispered, defiantly.

With a slight curling of his lip, he looked away from her in disgust, shaking his head. He didn't even have a response.

"Don't act so surprised," she said bitterly. "You know how I've lived... You know what I've had to do."

"What can I say, darlin'?" he asked. "Hearin' about it's one thing. But I guess it's just a little different to have to come face to face with _what you've done_," he said, enunciating the last words pointedly.

"Yeah?" she said in a strained, emotional voice. "I could say the same thing about Norman. You _do _remember Norman, right?"

Sawyer glared at her.

"Hearing about your glory days as a con artist wasn't quite the same as watching someone shoot himself in the head right in front of me. But I guess that's different, isn't it?" she said with sarcasm. "Because it's about _you_."

They stared at each other challengingly across the short yet unbridgeable distance separating them. This conversation seemed to be hitting an unfortunate dead end, and neither knew how to get it back on a safe path.

Before they could make the attempt, though, Jason rolled the door open and stepped back into the building. There was a gun holstered at his hip that hadn't been there before.

Sawyer swung his head around, painfully, to look at him. "You find your light saber?" he asked.

Jason stopped and looked at him coolly. "You're really scraping the bottom of the barrel these days, aren't you Maggie?" He glanced over at Kate with something like sympathy.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" she asked with her eyes closed, sounding exhausted.

"What would you like me to call you?" He moved over and kneeled down in front of her again. "I can think of some other names that _fit_, but something tells me you wouldn't enjoy being referred to as _cold-hearted manipulative bitch _either." He gave her a slight smile, and she looked away.

At uncomfortably close range, he continued to examine her, running his eyes over her with apparent satisfaction. "You look different. Where's all that black eyeliner I used to like so much?" She ignored him, and her grabbed her chin and forced her face back in his direction. "God, I used to love it when you made yourself look like a whore for me," he whispered. Then he laughed, bitterly. "Little did I know then, that was all you really were, right? I mean, if you want to get technical."

"What do you want?" she asked, staring at him forcefully.

"Excuse me?" He let go of her face.

"What do you _want_, Jason? You went to all this trouble to bring us here... What do you want from me?"

"What do I _want_?" he repeated incredulously. "She wants to know what _I_ want. Okay, let me just throw out a few suggestions. How about all those wasted months of my life that I spent on you? How about all the cash and the food you leached away during the time you stayed with me? After all, you pretty much lived off me like a parasite, didn't you? How about the money from the bank job that you fucked up? Or, here's an idea, Mags." He stopped and lowered his voice, dangerously, getting even closer to her. His eyes gleamed with a manic light. "How about the year and a half I spent in a prison cell because of _your _betrayal? You want to give that back to me? Huh?"

Kate stared at the floor tensely, not answering.

"I didn't think so," he whispered. "But you know what? It'd be a lie to say that all that time was wasted, because you know how I spent just about every waking hour in that cell? I spent it thinking about what I'd do to you if I ever happened to find you again. So don't worry... we've got plenty of _options _to choose from." He paused and smiled a little. "Just out of curiosity... Wasn't it you who told me once that you didn't like needles?"

She now moved her eyes back over to his, a distinct hint of nervousness in her expression.

He looked satisfied. "Just wondering."

"We got money," Sawyer said, increasingly disturbed by the way this lunatic was talking to Kate. "Whatever she took from you... I'll pay it back."

Jason looked over at him, contemptuously. "Aw, isn't that _sweet_. You think I want your money? This is between me and her. Although I wouldn't put it past her to let somebody buy her way out of this one, too." He turned back to Kate. "I think it's time you and me went for a little walk on our own. What do you say?"

Kate looked quickly at Sawyer, and he could see the growing dread that she was trying to hide. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she said calmly.

"You don't think so?" Jason asked. "Stand up."

She didn't move.

He stepped nearer to her. "I said stand up," he repeated in a lower tone.

"Go to hell," she muttered.

Reaching down, he jerked her violently up into a standing position, slamming her back against the bar again when she was up. She winced and closed her eyes.

"Don't worry," Jason said over his shoulder to Sawyer, who had also risen to a standing position in his helpless anger. "She likes it rough." He fished the keys to the handcuffs out of his pocket, still talking. "Just like old times, right, Mags? Hey, you remember that video we made?"

Kate appeared to be sickened by these words.

"I thought you would. I remember how reluctant you were... How hard you tried to talk me out of it... Pretended to be all _shy_. Said you weren't that kind of girl." He considered. "Although, come to think of it, you were probably just faking that, right?"

Now Kate looked back at him, with a trace of a malicious smile. "You want to know the truth, Jason?" she asked slyly. "That wasn't the only thing I was _faking_."

Sawyer had a split second to appreciate the perfection of her remark before a sharp crack filled the air as Jason's hand landed across her face. Her head swung to the side under the force of the blow, and then drooped in front of her. He could see a trace of blood trickling from her nose, and he gritted his teeth in a flood of rage that actually made his vision blur. "You son-of-a-bitch," he said savagely.

"Why do you make me hurt you, baby?" Jason asked regretfully, ignoring Sawyer. "Why did it always have to be like that? You just can't _ever _learn when to keep your mouth shut, can you?" Kate was still breathing hard, recovering from the slap. She didn't look at him.

"You know I would have done anything for you?" he went on. "I was _crazy _about you... You had to know that. When you came up with the idea to _rob a bank_, I thought you were out of your mind. But I also thought I was the luckiest guy on earth." He waited a second, apparently lost in thoughts of the past. For the first time, he looked truly sad. "It's probably a bad idea, but now that you're here... I've got to ask." He looked at her pointedly. "Was any of it real? Or did you have it all planned out the whole time? Did you just pick me because you figured I was the most likely candidate to get you what you wanted?"

Kate stared at him. Her expression appeared to soften a little, and she looked almost pitying. She glanced at Sawyer as if she didn't want him to hear this, and said to Jason, quietly, "Come closer."

Jason seemed somewhat surprised, but there was a vague look of hopefulness in his eyes. "Oh, so you want to tell secrets?" He moved nearer to her, bending his head so that she could whisper into his ear.

When he was standing just inches away from her, she brought her knee up into his groin sharply, using all her strength. He bent over slightly, cursing in outrage, the keys falling onto the floor. Immediately, Kate darted her foot out, covering them and trying to bring them toward her. Jason recovered enough to straighten up, and Sawyer watched in horror as he drove his fist into her stomach. With the air knocked out of her, she doubled over, sliding down the pole that she leaned against. Her face was white from the pain, and she moaned weakly as she crumpled back onto the floor.

Sawyer saw him begin to raise his foot, as if with the intention to kick her. "Hey!" he called out sharply, his voice echoing in the cavernous interior. Jason turned toward him, pissed off. "Pretty goddamn impressive show you put on there, hoss. Boy howdy, I sure wish _I_ had the balls to hit a girl when she's tied up," Sawyer went on sarcastically, trying to draw him away from Kate. "But that takes a _real _man, don't it?"

"I'm warning you now..." Jason began, threateningly, moving toward him.

"Course," Sawyer interrupted him, not listening. "I guess there's really no other way for you to do it, is there? 'Cause we both know that if she had her arms free, she'd have already kicked your ass by now."

The fist that connected with his face was welcome to him, the pain like a kind of triumph. He shook his hair back and peered up at Jason, a glint of humor in his eyes. "Hey, now... that almost stung a little. Where'd you learn that move? In your mom's basement, with your action figures?"

He was hit lower this time, his lip splitting against his tooth.

"Stop it," Kate pleaded in a wavering voice.

Sawyer kept talking, buying time. "I bet you got one of those punching bags weighted with sand at the bottom, right? Probably shaped like Darth Vader..."

Jason hit him again, his head ricocheting off the metal bar behind him with a dull clanking noise. His consciousness wavered, gray spots threatening to engulf his vision.

"Stop it!" Kate cried out, desperately. "_Please_..." She was crying now.

"You got anything else to say, smart-ass?" Jason asked, still standing over him, poised to knock him out completely.

Sawyer looked at Kate. "Don't," she said weakly, begging him not to take it further. He stared back at her, agonized. She looked helpless and miserable, tears now mixing with the blood on her face, and there was absolutely nothing he could do. He was fifteen feet away from her, and he couldn't touch her. It was a torture like nothing else he'd ever experienced. It didn't even matter anymore that this was all her fault. If he could just get to her, just get her away from here, then he'd forgive her anything in the world.

"Good," Jason said when he didn't answer. "Then maybe we can get on with things here. You want to try this again?" he asked Kate. "You ready to go for a little walk with me now?"

She no longer had the heart to resist him, it seemed. She ducked her head to wipe her face off on her shoulder. "Okay," she whispered.

"That's what I thought," he said encouragingly. Jingling the keys, he circled around behind her and squatted down. "Gonna be a good girl this time?" he asked close against her ear.

Kate looked at Sawyer, and he could see immediately what she was going to do. He shook his head at her, warningly, trying to prevent her. It was too dangerous to be worth it. But he knew his efforts were useless. It was second nature for her to do everything she could to defend herself, risky or not.

Jason turned the key, trying to secure both of Kate's arms before she could move them. But in a flash, she'd brought her right hand around and plucked the gun from his holster. Before she could even pull it back towards her, he'd grabbed her other arm and flipped her to the ground, face down, slamming her onto the concrete with vicious strength. The gun skittered in the other direction, toward Sawyer, but not close enough so that he could hope to reach it.

With his knee jammed into her back, Jason refastened the handcuffs around Kate's wrists, breathing heavily from his exertion. "She's a hellcat, isn't she?" he asked Sawyer, almost proudly. "Some things never change."

"I'll kill you," Sawyer said in a low, deadly serious voice, looking steadily into the other man's eyes. It wasn't a warning or a threat, it was simply a statement of the inevitable. A flicker of worry passed across Jason's face, but he covered it immediately. Yanking Kate up by grabbing a handful of her hair, he replied, "We'll see."

She was unsteady on her feet at first, wavering from the pain, her strength sapped. Jason propped her up, instructing her, "Say bye to your friend."

Sawyer looked up at her, and their eyes met. She stared at him miserably, not even trying to say anything. For his part, he couldn't seem to form coherent thoughts. He simply drank in the sight of her, feeling helpless and impotent in the face of whatever was about to happen, knowing that he'd failed her.

"You don't even think you owe him that much?" Jason asked. "Well, can't say I'm surprised." Leaning over, he picked up the gun from the floor. "Walk," he commanded her, pointing her toward the door. When she hesitated, he shoved her hard to get her started. She stumbled but managed not to fall, and then continued on her own. Jason followed behind her, pushing her again when she paused to look back once at Sawyer.

The door rolled open again, and they stepped through it. It rolled back, the latch clicking shut, and he heard their footsteps fading away.

Then there was silence.

* * *

For a while, Sawyer strained against his handcuffs with all his energy, desperate, roaring out his frustration like a madman. He forced the chain against the metal, violently, trying to snap it. He attempted to squeeze his own wrists through the openings, not caring if he tore his skin off or broke every bone in his fingers in the process. He kicked against the bar, trying to dislodge the entire thing so that he could slide out from around it. None of it had any effect at all. There was absolutely no way out of here.

Eventually, he could feel his strength begin to desert him. It was late into the night now, and he was exhausted. He could feel the weakness in his joins, the remnants of the virus that had only recently left him. His head ached from all the blows he'd received in the last few hours, and he shivered violently in the damp, cold air. As hard as he tried to stay awake and listen, he could feel himself losing the battle. The place was dead silent, and though he strained his ears for any noise of struggle outside, he could hear absolutely nothing but a steady dripping of water coming from somewhere. It made him realize how thirsty he was, and that he was probably still slightly dehydrated. He was so crazy with worry about Kate that his thoughts took on a feverish, distorted quality. He had no sense of how much time was passing. It could have been hours, or only twenty minutes.

When he heard the door sliding open again, he was convinced at first that he was imagining it, that his hallucinations from a few nights before were returning to him. But he shook himself out of it, concentrating on the solid, tangible reality of what was happening.

To his utter amazement, Kate came through the entrance first, the handcuffs gone, her arms free. Jason followed behind her. They both moved casually, without rush. She'd washed the blood off of her face, and he was relieved to see that some color had returned to her cheeks. She met his eyes, but then quickly looked away, as if she was guilty of something.

"Looks like we've had a little change of plans," Jason announced. He seemed excited. Turning to Kate, he asked, "You want to break the news, or should I?"

Ignoring him, Kate kneeled down in front of Sawyer. She stared at the floor at first, biting her lip. Then she took a breath and looked at him. He knew his confusion must be abundantly evident in his expression.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, shaking her head a little. She did look truly apologetic. Pausing for a second, she added sadly, "But you knew this would happen eventually."

"What the hell are you doin'?" Sawyer asked quietly, trying to make sense out of this.

Instead of answering, she leaned in toward him, bringing her lips to his. She kissed him deeply, and he kissed her back, despite the insanity of the situation. Hell, he was still _alive_, wasn't he? But something about all this was disturbingly familiar to him. It came to him in a flash that this was almost an exact reenactment of how their first kiss had occurred, with his hands fastened behind him, unable to reach out for her. Just as then, he could taste blood on his own lips, and he knew that she could as well.

When she pulled back, it took a second for her to open her eyes. He stared at her with a questioning look. "Kate..." he said. Jason watched all this with interest.

Then, with an almost tender delicacy, she reached into the front of the light jacket he was wearing and slowly pulled out the small manila envelope he carried there, next to his body. He watched her in bewilderment. Opening the top of the packet, she stared down into it.

"Is it all there?" Jason asked, leaning nearer in anticipation.

"Yeah," she said with a small smile, handing it up to him.

Jason whistled appreciatively, reaching down into the envelope with a calculating air, counting. Sawyer watched him, in a daze. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pressure on his leg. He turned his attention back to Kate, who was staring at him hard. There was a different look in her eyes now, replacing the satisfied one she'd just worn. It was meaningful and direct, and he knew she was trying to tell him something. He made an effort to read her expression, to figure out what she was communicating. This was usually easy for them, but he couldn't seem to understand anything about this scenario. The sense of betrayal was already eating away at him like acid.

Jason looked up from the envelope, and Kate quickly dropped her gaze again, resuming her earlier expression. Slowly, she stood up, backing away. "What can I say, man?" Jason asked Sawyer. He wrapped one arm around Kate from behind, possessively, resting his hand on her stomach. "It's funny how things turn out sometimes, isn't it?" Brushing her hair back, he brought his lips to her neck. She remained still, seeming not to mind it at all. Her face wore a far-away, serene expression.

Raising his head from her neck, Jason quickly raised the gun again and cocked it, pointing it at Sawyer.

"Wait," Kate said quickly, her calm momentarily disrupted, a tremor in her voice. She turned toward him. "What are you doing?"

He looked at her like she was an idiot. "Did you think we were gonna let him go? He'll go straight to the cops!"

"We aren't gonna let him go," she said, resuming her earlier demeanor. Calmly, she stepped in front of Jason and pushed the arm with the gun back down. "I thought we'd just leave him here. It's not like anybody'll be around... This place is in the middle of nowhere."

Jason looked at her carefully. "Then he'll starve to death... Could take weeks before he's dead."

"Which means," Kate said coyly, taking the gun from him and flipping the safety on, "we save a bullet."

A slow smile grew on Jason's face, and he shook his head. "God damn, you're just as twisted as ever. I _love _it."

She smiled back at him wickedly. "Let's go," she said, sounding excited.

"Whatever you say, baby," he agreed, turning toward the door, already forgetting about Sawyer. He had the air of a man who couldn't believe his own good fortune.

Kate glanced back once at Sawyer, that significant look flitting across her features once more. Jason held the door open for her, and she stepped through it, not looking around again.

Sawyer was left alone for the second time that night.

He closed his eyes, miserably, listening to the sound of the dripping water, waiting to see if she would come back.


	12. Chapter 12

I'm sorry about the long delay again between this week's chapter and last week's! I'm going to try to start updating on Tuesday or Wednesday during the 6-week (gasp) Lost hiatus. Thank you so much for reviewing, and I'm sorry for the evil cliffhanger - I'll try to ease up on those. ;)

Oh, and as regards our new awareness of the details of "what Kate did" - since I was already writing under the (hopeful) assumption that she grew up with an abusive father and killed him, it won't really change all that much. Needless to say, I was _very _relieved when I saw her backstory. I might make more or less subtle references to it here and there, but it won't change the course of the fic at all.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Kate pushed through the dried, withered corn stalks, moving as fast as she could. The dead plants hooked and grasped at her clothing, and she tore past them, intent on her goal. It would have helped if she could have used the sun to judge her direction, but the day was overcast, the sky a uniform gray. She knew the silo had been at a diagonal southeasterly angle from where she'd left Jason's car near the side of the road, which was as close as she could manage to get. But the stalks towered above her head, and she couldn't tell if she was still traveling in a straight line. Breathing hard, trying not to let herself slow down, she kept moving forward, desperately.

Her foot caught on a hillock of ground, and she stumbled, falling to her knees. The gun she was carrying was thrown from her hand, and she raised herself up quickly, darting her eyes around, looking for it. She circled the area where she'd fallen, scanning the ground, knowing she needed to hurry.

"_Where is it_?" she whispered to herself frantically. Parting some dense, brown stalks, she finally located the weapon, half-buried under weeds. She grabbed it and hurriedly checked to make sure it wasn't cocked, standing up at the same time and then glancing around.

She took a step, her heart pounding, and then realized with a sinking sensation that she'd become completely disoriented. She spun around, wildly, and every direction looked the same. Which side had she come from? Which way had she been moving? Her breathing sounded ragged to her own ears, and she swallowed, trying to stay calm. She could feel dizziness threatening to overtake her, and the cornfield seemed to be closing in on her, swallowing her up. A crow cackled, far overhead, as if it were mocking her. Closing her eyes for a few seconds, she took deep breaths and tried to concentrate. She would have counted, only there wasn't time.

When she opened her eyes again, she forced herself to look calmly at the stalks all around her. Using her tracking skills, she picked out the small details of the trail she'd made, tracing her way back a few steps to judge the direction she'd come from. When she knew she was on her own path again, she mentally calculated the angle she needed to continue at, and then forged ahead, picking up speed immediately. She had to be getting close.

Eventually, she could sense that the stalks were thinning, becoming scrawnier and less dense. A few seconds later, she burst out of the edge of the field into a clearing, pausing for just a second to lean with her hands on her knees, in relief, getting her bearings. She'd been off in her calculations by a few yards, but the silo was in sight, over to the west. Weak with exhaustion, she began to run toward it. When she reached the building, she located the side with the entrance. Her arms trembled with the exertion, but she gritted her teeth and used all her strength to pull the metal door back on its rolling hinges.

She stepped inside with a sickening sense of apprehension, looking around. The door let in enough daylight to see most of the building, if only dimly. But it was enough. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw that he was still there, and sudden tears stung her eyes.

His chin drooped against his chest, limply. She took a few tentative steps in his direction.

"Sawyer?"

Slowly, he raised his head up to look at her.

"It's me," she said softly, moving nearer.

He kept his eyes on her, steadily, his expression unreadable.

Kneeling down in front of him, she noticed with palpable emotion how haggard his face looked, and how cracked and dry his lips were.

"You need water, don't you?" she said, trying not to let him see how much his appearance upset her. "I wish I had some with me."

He continued to regard her silently for a few seconds, and she looked away from his eyes, feeling judged. "I came back as soon as I could," she said.

Making an effort to wet his parched lips with his tongue, Sawyer managed to croak out in a raspy voice, "Where is he?"

Kate suddenly became very preoccupied with digging a set of keys out of her pocket. She moved behind him, saying after a pause, "He's out of the way." She turned the key in the clasp, and the handcuffs clicked open. "He won't bother us now."

With his hands free, Sawyer pulled his arms around from behind the bar, groaning and wincing at the pain in his shoulders. Kate touched his back in sympathy, then moved back around to face him again.

"You okay?" she asked, looking at him seriously.

"Yeah," he said, letting out a deep breath and rubbing his arm. "You?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly.

He looked at her, searching her face, worried. She could see the unspoken question in his eyes.

"You sure?" he whispered, trying but failing to avoid a glance at her midsection.

She nodded slightly, not meeting his gaze. "So far, so good."

Finally, she looked up into his eyes again, and for a second neither of them moved.

They reached for each other at the same time, and she pressed her face into his shoulder as he locked his arms around her, pulling her tight against him. She could feel him breathing into her hair, and she kissed his neck in silent relief. They remained motionless for a while, not relaxing, hanging onto each other with tense strength. Kate kept her eyes closed tightly.

After a few minutes, she exhaled deeply and mumbled against him, "We need to get back to the truck before somebody reports it. It's not that far... I saw it on the way out this morning. We can walk."

There was no response, and no slackening of his hold on her.

"Sawyer," she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Let go of me."

Reluctantly, he eased up on his grip, and she pulled herself away a little, leaning back.

"You knew I'd come back, right?" she asked, a trace of doubt in her tone. She looked at him for reassurance.

He gave her a small, tired smile. "_Yeah_."

But his eyes told a different story, and she could see clearly that it wasn't true. He _hadn't _known. She tried to give him a smile in return, but her face was sad.

Standing up, she said, "Come on," and helped pull him to his feet. Although he was weak, he seemed steady enough, although he winced at even the relatively pale daylight. She led him toward the field again, heading for the road.

They ducked into the corn, and Kate picked up her earlier trail.

"We gotta walk through this?" Sawyer asked, annoyed.

"I left his car on the road."

"Why didn't you try the driveway?"

"There _isn't _one," she answered, rolling her eyes. "But thanks for the tip."

She continued to pick her away through, going more slowly for his benefit than she had earlier. He followed, brushing the stalks out of the way, muttering something about crop circles and Bible thumpers. Kate smiled secretly to herself, relieved just to hear him complaining again.

Glancing up at the sky, she said, "Feels like it's getting colder. You think it might snow?"

There was a pause as he seemed to consider her question, and then he spoke.

"Did you kill him?"

Kate looked back at him, her features darkening slightly. She tried to brush it off. "Not exactly the answer I was looking for..."

"I'm serious."

She stopped walking and turned back to face him. There was a struggle being played out in her mind, visible in her features. After a few seconds, she said quietly, "No. I didn't kill him."

Sawyer registered a confusing mixture of relief and disappointment. Disappointment because it meant they weren't out of danger, and relief because he didn't want to think that she was capable of that, even though he knew she was.

"Then where is he?" He watched her closely.

Kate sighed and looked away. "He's in the trunk of his car. Unconscious. I told him I thought I was gonna throw up, so he pulled over..."

"Did you?" Sawyer interrupted, worried.

"No," she said, softly. "I just made it up." He looked relieved, and she went on. "When he came over to see how I was, I was able to knock him off his feet... You know the rest right?" she suddenly asked, looking impatient. "It's taken care of. When we put enough distance between us, I'll call and let somebody know where he's at."

"What if he turns us in?"

"He won't," she said confidently. "Believe me. That's not his style."

Sawyer seemed to be bothered by something else. He finally voiced it. "How the hell'd you manage to get him in the _trunk_?"

Kate smiled, looking proud of herself. "Why do you think I'm so tired?" she asked with raised eyebrows, and then turned and started walking again.

He watched her, impressed in spite of himself, and started to follow again.

"Can't believe he fell for that," he muttered.

"Yeah, well... Jason's not that bright," Kate said in a flat voice. "One of the reasons I picked him."

Sawyer didn't answer at first. "Gotta say, I feel kinda sorry for the bastard, though."

Kate was surprised. "_What_?"

"Well, think about it. Guy spends all this time bein' obsessed with you, thinkin' about you night and day, and he makes it this far only to find out that he might get a second shot. He musta known deep down it was too good to be true." Sawyer paused, and with a strangely bitter smile, said. "Hell, can't quite say I don't relate."

Kate stopped completely now and looked at him in shocked confusion.

"You think you can _relate _to him?" She took a few steps nearer, saying in a strained voice. "Do me a favor, and don't compare yourself to Jason. You are nothing like him, Sawyer." She seemed to be choking back tears. "_Nothing_."

"So you say, puddin'... But if you ask me, the similarities are downright _eerie_."

He seemed to know he was hurting her, but he went on in the same falsely cocky tone.

"You say you lived with this guy, right? Hid out with him, let him pay for shit? Probably did whatever he wanted between the sheets, just to keep him happy and not asking questions." His lip curled in disgust at this thought. "And after all, the man _says _he was crazy about you. Don't take a genius to see he's tellin' the truth."

Now Kate's anger blazed up, overcoming the pain. "You know what, you're right! He _was _crazy about me. He was also just plain _crazy_, in general, Sawyer!" She swallowed hard, clearly not wanting to get into this, but forcing herself anyway. "You want some examples? The people across the hall in the apartment building where we lived? They had this cat. Well, one day, Jason decided he didn't like cats, so he fed it antifreeze and then hung it from their fire escape."

Sawyer expression registered growing disgust.

"And then another time," she went on, "I accidentally opened some of his mail by mistake. So just to make sure I didn't _forget_, and do it again, he held my head underwater for two minutes." She looked at him fiercely. "He's sick, okay? He has a screw loose somewhere. You still think you can _relate _to him?"

He was horrified now, and for some reason pissed at her. "Then what the hell did you stay with him for!"

The question seemed to catch her off guard, and she looked away from him, searching for the right answer. There were obviously complicated emotions struggling within her, and the reply she gave didn't have a complete ring of truth. "Because I knew... I knew it was only temporary. I _needed _him, for the bank job. That was the only reason," she said firmly.

"Was it?" He was increasingly unnerved by all the implications of this story.

"_Yeah, _it was," she repeated, insistently. "I needed his help."

"You went through all that, just to get that stupid plane?" Sawyer asked incredulously.

She blinked back tears, clearly hurt. "I've already told you about this."

"Yeah, well... Seems like you mighta left out a few of the _details_, huh?"

She looked away, and for a second they didn't say anything.

Slowly, he moved toward her, until he was just a foot away. In a quiet, defeated voice, he said, "I guess what I'm really wonderin' is, how much time's left on my clock, sweetheart?" She looked up at him, questioningly. "How much longer till you decide you don't need _my _help anymore? Once I deliver you up there, all safe and sound? Once my job as _chauffeur-with-benefits_ is over?"

She stared at him hard, trying not to let him see how much he was hurting her. Why was he lashing out like this? It seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Is that really what you expect?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

He looked away from her now, and she could see a hint of regret, although it was still mixed with hostility.

Before he could answer, though, she suddenly put her hand on his chest. "Shh."

Fully alert now, she glanced around, listening intently. Sawyer froze too, scanning the rows.

For a second there was nothing but the forlorn sound of the breeze rustling the dry, late autumn stalks. Then a slightly different noise, a louder rustle. They both turned in the same direction, senses heightened.

"Did you hear that?" Kate asked.

Sawyer didn't answer. "Give me the gun," he muttered.

She looked at him. "Why?"

"Just let me have it."

A strange, malevolent half-smile touched her lips. "You don't trust me?"

He continued to hold out his hand, waiting. They stared at each other in a wordless power play, both unwilling to back down. Finally, Kate released her pent-up breath through her nose, conceding. She reluctantly held the gun out to him, looking bitter as he took it from her. He checked the clip and then replaced it, while she watched jealously.

The sound came again, another louder rustling, off to the side. It was difficult to tell whether it resembled the movement of a person or not.

"Let's go this way," Sawyer said quietly, turning in the other direction.

She followed him without arguing. "What do you think it is?"

Just a few seconds later, the question was answered, definitively. A taunting, sing-song call rose up above the wind. "_Maaaaggie_!"

Kate and Sawyer glanced at each other, alarmed.

"The trunk was _locked_," she said. "I made sure of it."

"Well, sounds to me like he musta got it _unlocked_, MacGyver," he replied sarcastically.

"Maggie!" the shout came again. "Here, girl!" Then he whistled, as if calling a dog. "I know you're out here! Three strikes and you're out, babe! You blew your last chance!"

"Where is he?" Kate asked, confused. His voice seemed to come from every direction at once.

"Hey, Mags! You want to play hide-and-seek?" His voice was sinister, but with an undercurrent of violent rage. "You know it makes it more fun when you run from me, right?"

Kate was pale with dread. "He'll kill me this time," she muttered.

As if to accentuate her point, a gunshot suddenly blasted the quiet, sounding dismayingly close.

"_Jesus_!" Sawyer exclaimed, pulling her to the ground. They hunkered down, listening carefully, trying to determine his whereabouts. "This is why you don't go in _corn fields_," Sawyer whispered savagely.

"Maaaaaggie! Come out come out wherever you are!" Jason chanted.

Sawyer suddenly drew a deep breath, as if he were preparing for something. To Kate's amazement, he stood up.

"Hey! Han Solo!" he yelled sharply.

Kate stared up at him, her eyes wide with shock. "What the hell are you _doing_?" she hissed.

"I got a proposition for ya!" he continued. "Where you at?"

There was a silence in response.

Ignoring Kate's look, he stepped out into the row a little farther. "You want to rescue the princess? She's right over here!"

"_Sawyer_!" Kate was frantic with confusion.

After a few more tense seconds, there was a louder rustling in the field up ahead, and Jason emerged into the row, about twenty feet away. He had his gun pointed in front of him.

In a flash, Sawyer reached down, grabbed Kate and yanked her up, pressing the barrel of his own gun into her neck. She froze in shock.

"This what you're after?" he called to Jason.

Jason looked at Kate with a terrifying kind of hunger, his recent betrayal making his original desire for revenge increase a thousand fold. He laughed slightly, but seemed uncertain. "You think I'm gonna fall for that?"

"Hey, give me a little credit here, amigo. You and me are on the same side. _She's _the backstabbing whore, right? You really think I got any interest in keepin' her around, _now_?" Sawyer snorted derisively. "For _what_? It's just lucky you showed up when you did... Probably saved me from a bigger mess, down the road. Far as I'm concerned, she's all yours."

Tears overflowed and coursed down Kate's cheeks, despite her best efforts. The sound of those words coming from Sawyer made her sick. She tried hard to remain still, loathing the feel of the cold metal against her skin.

Jason, seeing her distress, appeared to be almost convinced. "Then give her to me."

Sawyer smiled a little. "Not so fast. I gotta get _somethin' _out of the deal, don't I?" He seemed to be thinking. "I'll take that gun off your hands... It'll do me a hell of a lot more good than she ever did. Sound like a fair trade?"

Jason wavered slightly. The violent lust with which he looked at Kate was clouding his sanity. "Fine. Send her over, and then you get the gun."

Sawyer laughed, as if he'd expected this. "Nice try. But I need a little more reassurance that nobody's gonna be takin' potshots at me when I try to get out of this funhouse maze." He paused. "Toss it over, and then she's yours, free and clear - you can do whatever you want with her. I'll just go back down South and try to forget I ever got mixed up in your twisted little love spat to begin with."

Jason hesitated. He still kept his weapon pointed at them, finger on the trigger.

"Hell, this is what you want, isn't it?" Sawyer asked him as if he were crazy, shaking Kate a little for emphasis. "You don't need a _gun _to deal with her. It'd be over too fast, take all the fun out of it. I'm thinkin' this should be more of a _hands-on project_, if you catch my drift."

This reasoning seemed to strike a chord in Jason, and he nodded slightly, his eyes gleaming in anticipation. "All right. And then you'll get the hell out of here, and not look back?"

"Nothin' I'd like more in the world," Sawyer said.

Jason slowly lowered the gun, uncocking it, looking wary but determined. With a light, underhanded toss, he sent it in their direction, and it landed with a thud at Kate's feet. She cringed slightly when it hit the ground, out of instinct, but it didn't go off.

"Now give her to me," Jason said, sounding like a drug addict who badly needed a fix.

Sawyer stared down at the gun for a few seconds, almost regretfully, and then, seemingly in slow-motion, raised his eyes back up to the other man's face. To Kate, it felt like time had stopped.

With his left arm still holding onto her, Sawyer lifted the gun in his right hand away from her neck and pointed it at Jason.

"Sorry, brother," he said quietly. "Guess today just really ain't your lucky day."

Understanding registered on Jason's face immediately, and in the same instant, instead of ducking away, he lunged toward them in a wild, uncontrolled rage.

The roar of the shot so close to Kate's ear almost deafened her. Her body jolted against Sawyer's, but she remained standing, covering her eyes with her hands. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung in the air as the echoes of the blast died away. She could feel Sawyer's arm trembling slightly as he lowered it.

For what seemed like an eternity, neither of them moved. Then Kate took her hands away from her face and went toward Jason, propelled by an urge she couldn't fight.

His eyes were already closed. The wound was in his neck, and the blood gushed from it like a fountain. As if in a daze, she kneeled down and moved her hands toward it, but then jerked back when Sawyer shouted "Don't!" She turned to him, seeing a fierce warning in his expression, and she realized through her fog that the sight of the blood on her would be more than he could bear.

They stared at each other helplessly, neither knowing what to do or say next. The corn stalks bent against each other in the cold wind, making a whispering, conspiratorial noise. Other than that, there was no sound.

Kate eventually turned her head back toward Jason's body. The blood coursed much more slowly now. His heart had stopped.

Backing up on her hands and knees, Kate rose shakily to her feet. Sawyer moved toward her, but she held up a hand to ward him off. Turning in the other direction, she walked a little further into the stalks, and he heard her getting sick.

He gave her a few minutes, and then approached tentatively. She was sitting on a ridge of the ground, elbows on her knees, staring down at the weeds, and she didn't look up at first, only moving her eyes to his shoes. She looked pale and exhausted.

"You held me at gunpoint," she said in a quiet, oddly distanced voice, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"_Yeah_... sorry 'bout that," Sawyer muttered.

"Would it have been too much to let me in on your little plan?"

"Could ask you the same question," he said, tilting his head sardonically. "Woulda been nice to know, while I was _handcuffed to a pole _all night."

The slightest hint of a smile lifted one corner of her mouth, but it had a trace of bitterness. She raised her eyes to his. "So we're even now?"

Instead of answering, he held out his hand. She looked at it thoughtfully for a second, but then let him pull her to her feet. Their eyes met, and there was something accusatory in Kate's look. She glanced sadly back in the direction of Jason's body and then started across the field, toward the road again. Sawyer followed, miserably.

They walked in silence for a while, but he couldn't stand it. Her unspoken condemnation weighed on him.

"He woulda just kept comin' after you."

She didn't say anything.

"He didn't just want to kill you... He wanted to _torture _you, and then kill you. You realize that? He wouldn't have given up." Just saying the words seemed to make Sawyer feel ill. She kept walking.

"Kate!" he said almost pleadingly, when she still didn't respond.

She finally stopped and turned toward him. "I know!" she said, almost angrily.

Then, in a softer voice, she repeated it. "_I know_, Sawyer." She paused, fighting tears. "I'm not... I'm not _blaming _you for anything. Please don't think I am. There was no choice. But it _should have been me_. You shouldn't have had to do that," she said, looking guilty. "_I _should have done it."

He regarded her for a few seconds, and then said simply, "I didn't want you to."

This seemed to cause the tears to threaten her again, and she bit her lip, finally nodding slightly in acknowledgement of his words, not trusting herself to speak.

After a few seconds, she brushed her hand across her face and glanced up at the sky. Buzzards were already beginning to circle the field.

"They don't waste any time, do they?" she whispered.

Sawyer started moving toward the road again, and this time they walked side by side. Finally, they reached the opposite end of the field and stepped out into the ditch, next to the blacktop. Sawyer looked around, trying to locate himself.

"See those bluffs down that way?" Kate asked. "That's the river... The truck's right where we left it."

They began to walk along the edge of the field, following the road, but almost immediately, the sound of sirens was wafted to them on the wind, growing steadily louder. It soon became clear that whatever it was was heading in their direction. They were forced to duck back into the corn yet again as a county sheriff's car sped past. Sawyer felt the effect of the siren's noise on Kate through the tension of her body. He kept his hand resting lightly on her back while she peered through the foliage like a hunted animal.

"Somebody must have heard the shots," she said anxiously. "They'll search his car first. It'll probably take awhile before they find..." She paused. "Before they find the body. We'll be gone by then." She looked up at him. "Let's just keep walking back here, where they can't see us from the road."

"Freckles," he said wearily, putting his hands on her shoulders. "I gotta tell you somethin'."

"What?" she asked, concerned.

He looked at her seriously. "We ain't ever comin' back to Indiana."

The smile that lit up her face was impossible for her to fight. Making jokes was the last thing in the world they should be doing right now, but there was no help for it. She nodded in amusement, glancing down at the ground and then back up at him.

"Good idea."

He put his arm over her shoulders, and she rested hers around his waist. It wasn't entirely clear which one was supporting the weight of the other. They started to walk back toward the truck.


	13. Chapter 13

**spinx**: I actually do have the whole thing planned out in advance, and it's not really affected at all by what happens on Lost, other than "What Kate Did" allowing me to flesh out more details of Kate's past every now and then. But I have an outline for the entire story that shouldn't be affected by anything on the show, barring something insanely unexpected. (Of course, if the horse thing had aired earlier, I wouldn't have written Kate taming a horse in Ch.4 - that was just a bizarre coincidence;)

**Amethyst Prongs: **The stomach punch issue is addressed in this chapter.. You're right, it could cause a miscarriage, and Sawyer's worried about it too.

This chapter is kind of "talky", for want of a better word - I got tired of so much action, so I went with the dialogue this week. Hope everyone likes it. Thank you a million times over for continuing to review! I've been writing this saga for almost 8 months now.. can you believe that!

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

It took longer than Kate thought it would to get back to the truck, although they were both relieved to see that it was in the same place they'd left it, and that it apparently hadn't been tampered with or reported to the authorities. Afternoon was quickly sinking toward what promised to be a very dark evening when they finally left the river bank behind them. Since Sawyer had managed to grab a few uneasy hours of sleep during his prolonged wait early in the morning, he maintained that he would be fine to drive for a while, at least. The truth was, he just wanted to get as far away from this godforsaken spot as possible. Kate seemed to understand this, so she didn't argue the point. They decided to head northwest, hoping to cross into Illinois before they stopped again for a break.

The highway they traveled was monotonous and flat, and there was nothing to see out the window but black, empty space. Although she wanted to stay awake with Sawyer, if for no other reason than as an act of solidarity after what he'd just gone through, Kate found herself struggling against exhaustion. She leaned slightly over to her right, supporting her weight against the door and resting the side of her head on the window, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Wouldn't lean on that door if I were you," he said suddenly out of the darkness.

She sighed. "Why not?"

"Because I don't feel like goin' back to look for you in the ditch, that's why not."

She smiled a little and sat back up straight.

They were quiet for a few seconds.

"Tired?" Sawyer asked.

"I'm okay." She paused. "I wish the radio worked in this thing."

"Well, you know what they say about wishin'," Sawyer started, with a mischievous lift of his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Kate interrupted, rolling her eyes. "And I know which hand will fill up first, so... save yourself the energy."

He looked a little annoyed that she hadn't let him finish one of his favorite sayings, but he gave her a sardonic smile.

After another pause, he reached back behind him with his right arm, where an extra jacket and flannel shirt were stuffed into the space between the seat and the rear glass. Yanking them out, he shook them slightly to fluff them out and get rid of the dust, then put them on the seat, propped up against his right leg. "There!" he said, and patted them with a satisfied air.

Kate watched this process, curiously. "What are you doing?"

"It's a _pillow_," he said, like it should be obvious. Then, when she still looked confused, he added, "So you can sleep."

She seemed touched by this, but still hesitant. "I'm trying to stay awake with you."

"Well, too bad," he told her jokingly. "I'm sick of listenin' to you bitch about the damn radio."

She considered for a second, but her tiredness was getting the best of her.

"You sure?"

He gestured at the pile with his eyebrows raised warningly. "Last chance."

"Okay," she said, giving in. Giving him an appreciative smile, she pulled her feet up into the seat and maneuvered over, leaning her head onto the makeshift pillow, halfway on Sawyer's leg.

"Comfy?" he asked.

She craned her head to look up at him.

"Not bad. Try not to slam on the brakes, though, okay?"

"I'll be on my best behavior."

She smiled again, her eyes already closing. "Night," she whispered.

He had to remind himself to watch the road, instead of her sleeping profile, half hidden in the shadows. It wasn't easy.

The highway stretched on, and he found himself losing track of time as he drove. A few hours ago, he'd killed a man, though it hadn't quite sunk in yet, and he hoped it never would. He felt like he was in some sort of trance state, which probably wasn't a good condition to be driving in, although the warm pressure of Kate's head against the side of his leg kept him tethered to reality. Every time the truck went over a railroad crossing or bumped across a bridge, he automatically reached down to keep her from rolling onto the floor, and then felt silly for it. He had pretended to be solicitous to women for so many years, as part of his act, that it had never really occurred to him how fundamentally selfish he was.

But when he'd met Kate, even before anything had happened between them, his knee-jerk concern for her welfare had taken him by surprise. He didn't understand where it had come from, or what had triggered it. It was annoying as hell, actually, to have to worry about somebody other than yourself - even if that person was so similar to you that caring about them could be considered just an extension of selfishness, rather than its antidote. And now, of course, there was the possibility of this vague, shadowy _third _life he would share responsibility for... It made him nervous just to think about it.

Although he tried to hold out as long as he could, the gas gauge began to inch dangerously close to empty towards the middle of the night. He would have to stop and refuel. Luckily, the next truck stop he came to was small and nearly deserted at this hour, being so far off the main interstate route. He pulled in and came to a slow stop.

"Hey," he said quietly, stroking her hair. "You slipped into a coma yet?"

She stirred, trying to stretch her legs out but meeting the resistance of the door. Her eyelids fluttered open and she rolled onto her back so that she was staring up into his face.

"Are we stopped?" she asked in a groggy voice.

"I gotta fill up the tank. You want anything?"

Instead of answering, she pulled herself up into a sitting position, looking around and stretching. "It's cold," she muttered, rubbing her arms. She glanced over at him. "What time is it?"

He checked his watch, holding it out to catch the light from the street lamps. "Almost four."

She looked surprised. "I can't believe I slept that long."

"Was startin' to get worried. Hell, you didn't even wake up when I stopped at that strip joint a few hours back. It's a shame, too, 'cause if you'd have taken your shirt off, we'd coulda got free drinks."

She smiled a little. "Funny."

He continued to watch her for a few seconds as she tried to pull her uncooperative hair back into a bun. Her cheeks were flushed and creased from sleeping on the jacket.

She looked over at him. "What?"

"I need the rest of the money back," he said. "I only got a few bucks on me."

Slowly, she lowered her arms away from her hair and turned to face the front, as if she hadn't heard him. She stared out the window, not moving, an unreadable expression on her face.

Sawyer waited. "Take your time, Freckles," he said. "I'll just enjoy the view," he added, gesturing toward a fat trucker who was standing at the pumps, scratching his ass.

"Oh, God," she said in a low, almost inaudible voice that was filled with dread.

He looked back at her, confused. Hadn't she ever seen anybody scratch his ass before?

"He wanted to hold it," she went on in a dazed way, as if she were talking to herself. "The envelope. I thought it would make him feel safer... would make him trust me more, if..." she trailed off.

Now he felt a slowly dawning sense of worry. He sat up straighter, his heart beginning to thud.

"When I finally got him in the trunk," Kate continued, "I was so worried about you... That's all I was thinking about... getting back to _you_." She turned back to look at him, her features registering a vague horror at what she was saying.

"What the hell are you tryin' to tell me? Because if this is some kinda joke, now's really not the _best time_," he said savagely.

"I didn't get it back from him," she whispered miserably, although she didn't really need to. He already knew the truth.

He could feel the first stirrings of rage creeping through his bloodstream like a drug, and he did his utmost to control it. "There was close to ten thousand dollars in that envelope," he said slowly, staring at her hard. He gritted his teeth, telling her, "It was _all we had_."

"I_ know that_, Sawyer," she said. Turning back to the window, she repeated in a strange voice, "Ten thousand dollars. And I left it on a corpse." She bit her lip, and it was hard to tell whether she was trying to hold back tears or laughter. "In a _corn field_."

Turning to him again, she said in a shaky whisper, "I'm really not cut out for this life, am I?" She gave him a weak, insincere smile.

He let out all the breath from his lungs, feeling a raging headache threaten at his temples. The tension in his body wanted to be released in a violent, yelling rampage, but he fought it. The way she was looking at him - almost like she _expected _that, and was preparing herself for it... He wouldn't give in to it. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do, but he swallowed and leaned his head back against the glass for a few seconds, breathing slowly.

Like she'd said, it was only because she'd been worried about him that she'd slipped up. Otherwise, she never would have been so careless. And it wasn't exactly like he'd worked hard to _earn _the ten grand... It was all stolen, of course. But still, it was all they had to live on. What the hell would they do now? They couldn't make it up there without money. They couldn't make it another twenty _miles _without money. The void he seemed to be staring into made him dizzy.

He sighed again and raised his head up. "Let's go inside," he said sullenly, indicating the restaurant attached to the truck stop. "It's too cold to sit out here and _chat_."

Without looking at her, he climbed out and waited at the front bumper. She joined him, reluctantly, and they crossed the parking lot and entered the building, ducking their heads against the wind. Although he was proud at how well he was fighting his anger, he was still too pissed to hold the door open for her, so he went in first, letting her catch the handle before it swung closed.

The place was almost empty at this hour. It was warm and smelled like coffee and frying grease, with soft honky-tonk country music from the seventies piped in from somewhere. Sawyer automatically searched the L-shaped interior for the table that was the furthest removed from everything else. He looked at Kate for her suggestion, but she was staring at the floor, a far away, bitter expression on her face.

"I hate this song," she muttered, closing her eyes. "I _really _hate this song." It was clear to him that she was being forced into a memory she wanted nothing to do with, particularly right now.

"You want me to get 'em to change the station?" he offered, momentarily forgetting how annoyed he was at her.

She looked up, making an effort to shake it off. "That's okay... I think I'll head back to the restroom, try to get cleaned up a little. Would you order us some coffee?"

"Yeah," he said, and then couldn't help throwing in pointedly as she started to walk off, "Sure hope they got _free _refills, though."

She sighed but didn't bother to respond.

He found a table and ordered the coffee, as well as an order of food for her. He was afraid to look in his wallet, but he knew there wasn't much more than ten dollars and some change there. Not enough for both of them to eat.

When she came back, he gave her a questioning look, trying to mask his concern. "Well?"

She sat down. "Well, what?"

"Everything... go okay in there?" He pretended to be fascinated by the menu.

"In the bathroom?" she asked, staring at him like he was crazy. "What do you want, _details_?"

"I was just wonderin' if..." he began, exasperated, and then gave up. "_Forget it_."

Now she seemed to be catching on. She looked at him sympathetically, and then down at the table. After a second, she said, "Everything's the same as it was... before." She glanced around, and then lowered her voice. "He didn't hit me that hard. And... I have strong stomach muscles." She tried to offer him a smile.

He watched her, hoping that she was telling the truth.

"Nothing's changed," she said reassuringly. But he couldn't help but notice the fact that she herself seemed less than thrilled by this assertion.

The waitress, who couldn't possibly have been more than fifteen, came to pour their coffee. "Thanks," Sawyer muttered.

Kate stirred her cup listlessly, staring down into the black liquid as the steam rose up toward her.

"So, what'd you want to talk about?" Sawyer asked.

She raised her eyes. "When?"

"The other night, before your old pal Jason decided to crash the party."

"It can wait," she said in a wry tone. "I think we have more pressing things to worry about now."

Sawyer glanced out the window, disappointed. She was right, but he was willing to bet that even if they hadn't had anything more _pressing _to worry about, she still would have found a way to wriggle out of the conversation.

"There has to be some way we can scrape together enough to get up there. What about your other bank accounts?" she asked, seriously now. "You said you had more than one, under different names."

He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I combined two of 'em after we left, and that's the one I cleared out before we crossed into Kentucky. The main one under my real name was already frozen."

"Frozen?" she asked, alarmed. "By who?"

"I'm guessin' by the same lovely gents who paid me a visit the morning we cleared out. The Feds," he told her, as if it were obvious. "Who do you think? Probably thought they could keep us from leavin' the state that way."

She continued to look surprised. "Why didn't you tell me that?"

"Because," he said, ripping open a sugar packet with a vengeance. "I didn't want you to worry."

She seemed moved by this, but she still insisted, "You should have let me know. We can't keep things like that from each other."

He gave her a sarcastic look. "You really think _you _oughtta be lecturing _me _about the benefits of full disclosure?"

She took a sip of her coffee, choosing not to answer. When she sat the cup down, they were quiet for a second.

"You bring any of that jewelry with you?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why?"

"I'm not saying we would get a fortune for it, but it would keep us alive for a few weeks, at least. I mean, your mom's wedding ring was solid gold, Sawyer." She looked at him meaningfully.

He let the silence draw out before responding, and then said with an icy smile, "I didn't bring it."

She watched him, and he could easily see that she didn't believe him, but he didn't care. Finally, she dropped her eyes, choosing wisely not to press the matter.

"What about your aunt, then? She said to call her when we got close."

"She said to call for _directions_. Meg don't have any money," he said with scorn. "She gambles it away as fast as she can earn it."

"She's a gambler?" Kate asked, in mild disbelief.

"Every second she's not in that rig, she's in a casino. There ain't nothin' she can do for us, trust me."

Kate shook her head, slowly, vaguely amused. "I should have known she was a gambler. If it wasn't drinking, it had to be something else."

Sawyer raised his eyebrows comically. "What can I say, sweetheart? I come from good stock."

She smiled in agreement, wearily. "Yeah... me too."

Their shared look of understanding was broken by the return of the waitress, bearing the one breakfast platter aloft. She seemed confused about where to put it.

"It's hers," Sawyer said, nodding toward Kate, who was mystified.

"More coffee?" the girl asked, pouring it before they could accept.

When she left, Kate asked, "Where's yours?"

"I'm not hungry," he lied.

She wasn't buying it. It was immediately apparent to her why he hadn't ordered more.

"How much cash do you have on you?"

"Not enough," he said simply. "So you might as well eat up."

Sadly, Kate pushed the plate over to him. "You're the one who needs to eat. You've been _sick_, Sawyer. You have to keep your strength up, or you could have a relapse."

Glaring at her, he slid the plate back. "You don't think maybe there's some reason that _you _oughtta keep your strength up, too? Think about it _real _hard."

They stared at each other challengingly, continuing the argument without words.

"Then we'll share it," Kate finally suggested.

Sawyer looked away, irritated, but he knew it was the only way he could get her to eat. "Fine." He picked up a fork and cut off a tiny sliver of pancake, then popped it into his mouth with over-exaggerated relish. "Mmm..." he said, a gleam of sarcasm in his eyes. "_Tasty_."

With a provocative smile that seemed to indicate that two could play at this game, Kate managed to shave off an even more infinitesimal piece of pancake, barely visible to the naked eye. She brought it daintily to her lips.

"Wow, you're right," she said in a mocking tone. "This _is _good." Her eyes sparkled with an electric sense of competition, and she waited for him to make the next move.

_Damn_, she was a pain in the ass. So why did he suddenly have the urge to take her out back to have sex in the alley?

"You want to make this a contest, Freckles?" he asked, tilting his head in a cocky manner.

She smiled, but then bit her lip and looked down at the plate. "I've got a better idea." Using the butter knife, she separated the food carefully down the middle, and then pushed each side slightly away from the central dividing line. She looked up at him. "There... it's even. Now will you eat?"

He examined the food, determined to have some kind of input here. "Trade you the toast for the bacon."

They completed the transaction, and finally began to go to work on the food. Neither had realized how hungry they were, or how long they'd gone without eating. The waitress glanced at them quizzically when she walked by to take another order, but she seemed to write it off as one of those crazy quirks of couples, like how sometimes they sat in the same booth instead of across from each other. She was old enough to have learned that people in love do stupid things, even in public.

When the plate was almost empty, Kate resumed their earlier conversation, as if they'd just left off. "So if your aunt's out, who does that leave? Don't you know anybody else who could spot you something for a while? Maybe someone who owes you money?"

"There aren't that many people who owe me money," he said. "Hell of a lot of people I owe money _to_, if you want me to try to get in touch with _them_."

Kate thought for a second, but came up with nothing. "Then I'm out of suggestions. It's your turn."

"I can think of one person you didn't suggest," he said, watching her carefully.

"Would you take money from him?"

"Not unless you got some advance knowledge that hell's about to freeze over."

She smiled dryly. "That's why I didn't suggest him."

He was quiet a second. "What about you? You don't know anybody who'd help you out?"

"You know I don't," she said, sadly. "And even if I did, I wouldn't drag anybody else back into this life. I'm on my own."

He took another swig of coffee and leaned back in the booth, looking at her thoughtfully. They seemed to have run out of possibilities, leaving them only one choice. He'd known from the beginning that it would come to this, anyway. Everything else was just a formality.

"Then I guess there's only one thing left to do," he said in a soft voice.

She met his eyes, questioningly.

He sighed, looking away from her with regret. "I'll sell the house."

"_What_?" she asked, alarmed. "_No_. No... that's ridiculous. It would take too long. Weeks, at least... maybe months. You can't just.. _sell a house_ on the spur of the moment."

"You can if you go through back channels."

"You mean illegally?"

"Yeah, I mean _illegally_," he said with scorn. "You want 'em to be able to trace it?"

She didn't answer, so he continued, bitterly. "I know plenty of bastards who'd love to make a profit off of that place. We won't get near what it's worth, but at least we'll get somethin'."

"Forget it," she said. "I won't let you do that. I won't let you... _sell your house_, just for this."

"It's just a piece of land, and a building," he tried to explain to her. "It doesn't mean anything to me."

"Well, it means something to _me_!" she said fiercely.

He watched her, somewhat taken aback, although he realized he probably shouldn't have been.

She glanced around, checking to see if anybody had noticed her outburst, and then lowered her voice. "That house..." she said with a sincere look, "is the only place that's ever felt like _home _to me." She paused. "Sawyer..." Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she swallowed and looked away, almost embarrassed. "You said we'd go back someday."

He didn't want to hurt her, but they had to be realistic. "You really think that's gonna happen?" he asked.

"Probably not," she said, her voice shaky with emotion. "But I need to know that it's _there_.. that it's still ours. I need to know that we _can _go back, even if we never do." She stopped, still fighting tears. "Does that make any sense at all?"

"You want the truth?"

She smiled tightly. "Not really."

"Then, yeah," he told her. "Makes perfect sense."

She drew in her breath to try to compose herself. "Don't sell the house," she said. "_Please_."

Sawyer exhaled loudly and leaned his head on his hands, pressing his temples and squinting. After a few seconds of inner debate, he gave in. "Fine."

She nodded, gratefully. "Thank you," she whispered.

"But I hope you know, that puts us right back where we started. I'm about out of ideas." He thought for a second. "Maybe we oughtta just go on back to Indiana, tell the cops we left somethin' in our dead guy... ask 'em if we can get it. Hell, I bet it happens all the time," he said innocently.

This remark won a small smile from Kate, but she still appeared miserable. "I'm so sorry," she said, looking out the window. "This is all my fault."

"Hey," he said, to get her attention. She turned back to him. "We'll figure somethin' out," he told her, quietly.

"Yeah," she said, obviously not at all convinced.

To distract her, Sawyer picked up her hand and turned it over on the table, palm up. He traced the lines with his fingertips, and she watched him, with detached interest.

"Ever had your palm read?" he asked her.

"Once, I think... At some girl's birthday party that I was forced to go to. I was about twelve."

"And what'd you end up with?"

"From the reading? Um, I think the woman said I had a strong lifeline. Whatever that means." Kate paused, searching her memory. "She also told my fortune."

"Sounds like a hell of a party," he said sarcastically. "What she'd say?"

Kate smiled secretively, still watching her hand. "You don't want to know. Believe me."

What before had been idle questioning was now promising to take a more interesting turn. His curiosity was roused. "It couldn't have been that good, if you were only twelve," he said, trying to draw her out. "Come on, girl, don't hold back on me."

"Okay," she said, with a tone that indicated, _You asked for it. _"She said that the man of my dreams would be tall, dark, and handsome."

"Well," he said, with a satisfied grin. "Two outta three ain't bad."

"And also that he would be a doctor," Kate added, afraid to look directly at him. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Sawyer tilted his head back a little, immediately miffed. He made a small hissing sound of contempt. "Come _on_. You expect me to believe that?"

"I told you you wouldn't want to hear it."

He thought for a few seconds, not wanting to make this into an actual argument. Even for him, that would be beyond childish.

"You know, I thought about goin' to med school once," he said slyly. "Talked myself out of it, though."

"Oh, _please_," Kate said, laughing and rolling her eyes.

"Hey, now!" he said in mock offense. "You think I'm lying?"

"You didn't even go to _college_!"

"Yeah, well, like I said... It was just a thought."

She nodded, still smiling. "And what would you have specialized in, if you _had? _Surgery, by any chance?

"Gynecology," he drawled, without a second's hesitation. "That way, you get to be a doctor, _and _look at naked women all day. Best of both worlds."

Kate grimaced and closed her eyes tightly in disgust. "I'm just gonna pretend I didn't hear that." She opened her eyes again to find him smiling at her, relieved that he'd at least taken her mind off of the hell they'd been living through for the past few days.

"Anyway," she said slowly, looking back at her hand. "I think the fortune was basically right."

"That so?" he asked, trying not to sound let down.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "You're definitely _not _the man of my dreams."

He attempted to smile at her, hoping that he pulled it off without looking hurt.

She squeezed his hand. "You're the man I get to wake up to," she said, and then blushed. "Which is much more important."

Lifting his hand up, almost as if she wanted to hide behind it, she pressed her lips to his closed fingers and looked at him. With her face crinkled in an adorable, pixie-ish manner, she whispered confidentially, "Besides... my dreams usually turn into nightmares, anyway."

He swallowed hard, not knowing what to say in response to this. What he most wanted to do was to lean over the table and kiss her until she couldn't breathe, but would that be wise in the middle of a restaurant?

Before he could make up his mind, the door at the front was pulled open forcefully, and a woman clattered in on high heels, moving directly to the counter with her nose in the air. She was probably in her late fifties or early sixties, but she stood out in this seedy truck stop like a French poodle in a pack of hunting hounds. Impeccably groomed, manicured, and tailored, she looked around her with disdain before rapping sharply on the counter.

"Hello!"

The waitress who had served Kate and Sawyer emerged from the kitchen. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Where's your phone?" the woman demanded. "Apparently this place exists in some alternate dimension that doesn't get cell service."

The girl stared at her blankly for a second, as if at a new and strange life form. Slowly, she turned and stuck her head through the kitchen door. "Sharon!" she hollered back. "Lady out here wants to use the phone!"

There was a muffled reply, and the waitress listened.

"Oh, for God's sake," the woman said impatiently, rolling her eyes heavenward as if she'd been asked to wait for an hour.

The girl came back around front and lifted a rotary phone out from behind the counter, placing it on top. "Have to dial 8 for long distance," she explained.

Instead of answering, the woman rummaged through her purse and came back with a tiny spray bottle and cloth. She lifted the receiver and spritzed the entire thing, then wiped it down before she dialed.

Kate glanced at Sawyer, amused. This was entertaining, at least.

As she waited for someone to pick up, the woman noticed the waitress watching her, fascinated. "Don't you have something to do?" she asked nastily. The girl moved away.

"Yes, hello... Pam?" she said harshly into the receiver. "It's Gloria. Oh, you wouldn't believe it if I told you. The car had a flat, and we're at some sort of dining establishment for_ truck drivers_, I believe. It's like the ninth circle of hell. Everything between New York and LA is nothing but a gigantic white-trash landfill." She shuddered.

Kate slouched back against the booth, shaking her head slowly in contempt. Sawyer knew how much she loathed these snobbish types, and that she took remarks of that nature personally, whether they were directed at her or not.

The woman continued, in a loud, unpleasant voice. "But I want you to fax those documents on over to Victor... I signed the papers for the building... The demolition will start sometime next month, hopefully. I haven't decided yet what to do with the land... Maybe a mini-mall, or something. The tackier, the better, as far as I'm concerned. That's what these people want anyway." She paused, listening. "Well, if the bastard wanted to keep his children's hospital, he shouldn't have signed a pre-nup, am I right?" She cackled gaily. "After all, if it wasn't for all those charities taking his time, maybe I wouldn't have gotten so lonely that I had to find other men to keep me company." She seemed to have a new thought. "Oh, and while you're at it, check into that shelter of his down in Maryland. Cosmetics labs will be willing to pay good money for those animals... but don't settle until you find the highest price, of course."

Sawyer and Kate now looked at each other with equal expressions of distaste. They began to wish they'd left as soon as they were done eating.

"Oh, if you had any idea of what I've gone through to close this deal," the woman now moaned pitifully. "It's just been one thing after another. Would you believe that good-for-nothing maid just walked out on me? She said it wasn't _her job_ to travel with me... that she was only supposed to look after the house. And then whined something about how _her son_ missed her. Can you imagine the nerve?" She sighed deeply. "Call up the agency and have them send me someone else... I'll be at the Hilton in Springfield until Friday, and then with any luck, I'll be a first-class plane ticket away from Fifth Avenue, and won't ever have to enter this cesspool again."

An elderly man dressed in a chauffeur's uniform poked his head through the door. "Car's ready, Miz Winchester."

"Pam? I have to go. Apparently it only takes these people three hours to air up a tire. I'll call you from the hotel when I have more instructions."

She hung up the phone and looked at the man. "My name is _Mrs_. Winchester," she said in a haughty, deeply offended tone.

The man touched his hat, apologetically, saying, "Ma'am."

As she turned to go, she stopped next to a balding, middle-aged trucker who was staring at her with his mouth open.

"What are you looking at?" she demanded.

He slowly raised his fork to his mouth, not answering or taking his gaze from her.

"Uuuhhh..." she shuddered, moving off. "This is precisely why incest is against the law."

As she brushed by Kate and Sawyer's table, not even once glancing in their direction, they were enveloped in her cloud of heavy, cloying perfume. Kate turned her head away, grimacing.

Sawyer had a funny, deliberate half-smile on his face. "You smell that?" he asked slowly.

"Yeah," Kate answered, covering her nose. "I think she must have taken a bath in it."

"Not the perfume," he corrected her. "The _money_." He raised his eyebrows at her, meaningfully.

"I guess so... I'm sure she's loaded," Kate said, as if she couldn't see why it made a difference.

"Sweetheart, we been rackin' our brains tryin' to come up with a solution to our little problem, and you're gonna tell me you don't even recognize it when it walks right through the door and calls us white trash?"

Crossing her arms on the table, she watched him as she finally began to understand what he was getting at. "You've got to be kidding me. She must be _sixty_, at least."

"I'm not gonna _sleep_ with her," he said with repugnance. "There's a lotta other ways to scam people besides sex, you know." He smiled at her charmingly. "Besides, you always said you wanted to see how I work.. so here's your chance."

She was incredulous. "I _never _said that."

"Well, pretend that you did, then." He paused. "Come on, now... That woman was Satan in Versace. Even _you _can't feel bad about this."

"I didn't say I felt bad," she said, quietly. "But it's dangerous, Sawyer."

He seemed to think this was funny. "Freckles, we're already runnin' from the FBI. What the hell do we have to lose?"

She smiled a little and looked out the window, where the sky was just beginning to lighten. He could tell she was coming around.

"Don't worry... I won't take all the good parts. You're gonna help me out on this one." She turned back to him, ready to protest, and he added, "I always wanted a beautiful partner-in-crime. You up for it?" He lifted his coffee mug as if he wanted to toast her.

Kate considered, and then sighed heavily, giving up. She picked up her mug. "What the hell."

They clinked them together, and then drank. Sawyer set the cup back on the table with a flourish.

"This is gonna be fun," he told her, a strange, anticipatory excitement shining out from his eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

Once again, thank you to **Kater **of L-F for supplying the Spanish in this chapter! She's my hero!

And I don't think I mentioned this in my last update here, but when I wrote, I was picturing Kelly Bishop in the role of Gloria. She plays Emily Gilmore on Gilmore Girls, so if you've ever seen her, it might help make some of these lines a little easier to swallow. Lol..

And if I don't update again before this weekend, I just want to say Happy Holidays to everybody... Your comments mean the world to me, and I hope everyone has a wonderful time with family and friends!

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Come out and let me see," Sawyer called, his voice echoing a little against the concrete floor.

There was a pause, and then an embarrassed-sounding, "No."

He suppressed a sigh and looked at his watch. Still plenty of time, but no sense in wasting any more. He heard a shuffling noise, and looked back up at the pile of crates Kate was hidden behind, but she still didn't emerge. They were in a warehouse section of the hotel basement, and Sawyer had taken care to blockade the entrance against any unwanted intruders. For now, at least, they had the place to themselves. But they needed to get moving.

"I'm gonna count to three, and then I'm comin' in," he chanted in a warning voice.

"It's too tight, Sawyer," she called back, sounding frustrated.

"Even better," he said with a smile in his voice.

"Did you get it too small on purpose?"

He made a sound of exaggerated offense. "I got exactly what you told me to get... You said that was your size!"

"Yeah, well... it used to be." She lowered her voice and muttered, "Thanks for reminding me."

"You gonna let me see it, or not?" he asked, exasperated.

Finally, she stepped out from behind the crates and stood in front of him. He rose slowly from the box he was sitting on and eyed her with a growing grin, saying approvingly, "_Welllllllll_..." His dimples came out in full force. "Not bad, Freckles. I'd hire you to clean _my _house."

Closing her eyes with a tight smile, she said, "Only _you _could make that sound dirty."

He kept studying her, fascinated. She was the quintessential maid. The costume that he'd obtained from a uniform outfitters was black silk with white lace trim, and although it was a little too practical and workaday to be the stuff of men's fantasies, it came pretty damn close. And she was right - it _was _too tight on her. Particularly around her chest, which was just fine by him.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it so much," she said, looking critically down at the uniform. "But is this really necessary?"

"Gotta make it look real," he taunted her. "Like you always say, it's the details that matter, right?"

She was annoyed at having her own words thrown back at her, but the worst part was that he was right. She sighed, and then glanced at the department store bag on the floor. "Don't I get to see yours?"

"You will, once I get up there. Just try to be patient," he told her with a wink.

"How did you pay for all this, anyway? Or should I even ask?"

"Wrote some bad checks."

At her disapproving look, he said defensively, "_What_? Like you never did it?"

Without answering him, Kate looked around the basement for a few seconds, thoughtfully. "I'm just not sure this is a good idea. Do you really think it's safe?"

"Nope," he said. "That's what makes it fun."

She tried to smile, but her eyes were worried.

"Look," he said, losing the edge of mischief. "I told you, I've done this a thousand times before. All you gotta do is play your part, and it'll be a piece of cake, trust me. It ain't like I'm askin' you to spray paint a cop car."

"I know," she said, amused. "But that sounds like something I'd be better at."

"Well, we got the whole afternoon free, if your heart's really set on it. Hell, I'll even buy the paint, if you promise to keep wearin' that."

She laughed, looking at the floor and then back at him. Then Sawyer reached down and pulled her up against him, lifting her feet off the floor, kissing her with a suddenly overwhelming passion. She seemed to be affected by the same thing, pressing into him so hard that his head bent back slightly, her hands tangled in his hair. Forcing herself to break away, she tried to catch her breath, her lips almost touching his face.

"It's been awhile," she whispered, blushing a little.

"We got some time to make up for," he agreed in a husky voice that raised chills on her neck. "But you know what they say," he said in a tone of playful regret, letting her slide down him until her feet hit the floor again. "Business before pleasure."

"Yeah," she agreed, reluctantly taking a few steps back from him in order to remove the temptation. "Then I guess I'm ready to go up. Any last minute instructions?"

"Remember to use the accent, _Rosa_," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Argentina, right? How could I forget?" She gave him a suspicious look, and then said, "And I know it's a mistake, but I just have to ask... did you actually _know _a maid named Rosa?"

He smiled at her roguishly, but without opening his mouth.

She nodded. "That's what I thought." Then she looked around her with an air of finality. "Well... Wish me luck."

He caught her hand and squeezed it hard, trying to convey to her the fact that everything would work out fine. "I'll be up soon."

She gave him a grateful look and then turned to go. He watched her leave, already feeling his pulse begin to quicken in nervous apprehension.

* * *

Kate knocked on the door that she'd been directed to. These were the luxury suites, and she prayed that she would be let into the place before somebody else came out of another room and saw her standing there. The less people who shared in her shame, the better.

She heard an irritated groan from the other side, and then the door was unlatched and opened. She inwardly breathed a sigh of relief - it was the right room, at least, and this was the same woman from the truck stop. So at least things were starting out on the right foot.

"Yes?" the woman said impatiently.

"Senora Winchester?" Kate asked with an accent, pretending to be flustered and unsure of her words. "I... come from the agency? You said for them to send someone?"

"Oh... _well_," she answered, seeming surprised "That was quick. Could it possibly be that people are _actually _following my directions for once without dawdling? It must be a sign of the apocalypse," she went on, sarcastically. "Come inside." She grabbed Kate's shoulder and pulled her into the hall.

Kate took in her surroundings with awe, although she tried not to let it show. This looked more like an apartment than a hotel room - it had a central living room with a bedroom opening off one side and what she assumed must be a small kitchen off the other. _Who the hell can afford to travel like this?_ she thought with a stab of envy.

"You can start by giving Mitzi a bath..." Mrs. Winchester was intoning. "I could have sworn I saw a flea, yesterday." Kate looked around, confused, wondering if the tiny ball of white fluff on the sofa could by any chance be "Mitzi." "And after you're done with that, you can finish getting me unpacked... the luggage is in the bedroom. With this tension in my shoulders, I haven't been able to lift a finger since we got here. Are you getting all this?" she asked, suddenly turning to Kate with concern.

Kate nodded. "Si," she added, when the woman still didn't seem convinced.

Mrs. Winchester sighed, looking weary. "That reminds me..." She walked to a sliding glass door that led out onto a sun deck, pulled it open, and called out, "Jose! I'm ready for my afternoon treatment!" A few seconds later, a young man, clearly not more than nineteen or twenty, appeared in the room. He looked at Kate with immediate interest.

"This is the new maid," Mrs. Winchester told him. "What did you say your name was?"

She hadn't been given a chance to mention a name, but she didn't bring this up now. "Rosa," she said, trying to sound demure.

"Well, this is Jose, my personal masseuse. He travels with me everywhere. And he's from Mexico as well, so you two should get along just fine," she said dryly.

"Oh..." Kate said, sensing a possible complication in the fact that someone here _actually _spoke Spanish. She could have killed Sawyer for making her use an accent, just because it made this more fun for _him_. "I am from... Argentina."

Mrs. Winchester made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Same thing," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Hola," Jose said, letting his eyes travel up and down her body.

She smiled tensely, but didn't reply.

"Well?" Mrs. Winchester said, in a tone that seemed to imply _What are you waiting for? _"There's the dog... Do you have any questions?"

Kate shook her head, but something else seemed to be required here. She forced herself to say it, through gritted teeth. "No, ma'am."

Mrs. Winchester seemed satisfied by this, so she headed toward the bedroom, calling, "Come along, Jose."

He followed, but not before making some kind of obscene gesture with his tongue, directed at Kate. She made a face of confused disgust.

Sighing, she moved toward the sofa and reached out for the dog, which appeared to be a Pomeranian. It immediately lunged up out of its doze and snapped at her, and then just as quickly fell asleep again. She took a step back and crossed her arms. Closing her eyes briefly, Kate opened them again and looked at the clock. Sawyer had said he would be here in an hour. She was already convinced that this was going to be the longest hour of her life.

* * *

Sawyer straightened his tie for the tenth time. It had been so long since he'd worn one, he'd almost forgotten how to tie it. Getting dressed down in the basement, he'd started to wish he'd had Kate stay a little longer, at least until he was ready. There wasn't even a mirror down there to consult. But he'd managed on his own, the way he always had in the past. The wait had seemed interminable, but he'd had a quick drink at the hotel bar to steady his nerves, watching the clock the entire time. Now, finally, it was show time.

Switching his briefcase to his left hand, he knocked sharply. From inside the suite, he heard a harsh yell. "Rosa! Get the door!"

Footsteps approached, and he could hear how pissed Kate was just by the way she walked. He smiled to himself. It was strange to think that he knew someone that well.

Opening the door, her anger at his lateness quickly turned to astonishment as she took in the image of him in the expensive, perfectly tailored suit. Laughing a little in shock, she put her hand over her mouth, her eyes traveling from his shoes up to his smoothly combed hair.

"Howdy, Rosa," he said.

"This is... _different_," she whispered, and then glanced behind her to make sure they were alone.

"You like it?" he asked with a grin.

She leaned up towards him, standing on tiptoes, and breathed in. "Are you wearing cologne?"

"Aftershave."

She smiled, and their faces were so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. It was intoxicating. He leaned in a little further.

"Rosa!"

Kate's head suddenly snapped back, and she turned, looking guilty.

"Who is it?" Mrs. Winchester demanded.

"Um... a man for you," Kate said, lowering her eyes.

"Oh?" she replied coyly. "I like the sound of that." Her voice turned sharp again as she said, "Well, let him in, you stupid girl!"

Kate turned back to Sawyer, saying, "Come in," in a polite tone of barely suppressed rage. He tried not to laugh.

In the living room, Mrs. Winchester invited him to have a seat. Kate stood by uncertainly, not knowing exactly what she was supposed to do in this situation.

"Now... What can I do for you?"

"Mrs. Winchester...," he began.

"Oh, please, call me Gloria," she said, crossing her legs in what she seemed to think was a sexy manner.

"All right, then, _Gloria_," Sawyer went on, pretending to be overcome. "My name is Terence Brown, and I work for your husband."

"_Oh_," she said, her face hardening immediately in disappointment. She sighed. "_Ex_-husband, you mean."

"Yes ma'am, my mistake," Sawyer said.

"Look, I know exactly what this is about," she said, uncrossing her legs and drawing herself up in a haughty manner.

"You do?" he said, waiting for her to go on. The key was to let her supply as much information as she wanted to. It could only help him out.

"And the fact of the matter is, it simply isn't up for discussion. He can send as many lawyers at me as he wants to, but it won't do any good. I wasn't born yesterday, you know. That pre-nup clearly stated that I'm entitled to half of all the assets, and that includes real estate and stocks. If he wasn't comfortable with that, then he never should have signed the thing in the first place."

"But, with all due respect, ma'am, I believe what Mr. Winchester takes exception to is _the way _the assets are being divided, and not the fact of the division itself." He spoke in a smooth, polished tone, and although his grammar was impeccable, his accent had thickened considerably into a charming drawl. Kate watched him with newfound admiration.

Mrs. Winchester stood up. "Well, frankly, it isn't his choice to make. And I don't believe in beating a dead horse, so there's no point in going over this for the hundredth time. What does he think, that he can confuse me by sending a different lawyer every week? Rosa will show you out," she finished abruptly.

"Now, hold on just a minute, ma'am," Sawyer said, not moving. His tone became ingratiating. "I think we may have got things off on the wrong foot here. I'd hate to think that I came all this way just to see you, only to be turned out on the doorstep like a sack of potatoes."

Kate had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. That made absolutely _no sense_ at all, and yet it seemed to be having the desired effect. She could see Mrs. Winchester faltering in her resolution.

Sawyer went on, sealing his advantage. "Besides, I think I got some new information here you might want to take a gander at. It ain't all necessarily to _his _advantage, let me tell you. I'm sure you must know that you get final approval in all these property divisions anyway, so it can't do you any harm to look at things from every angle, now, can it?" He managed to be both suave and humble at the same time. It was like watching a skilled actor play the role of his career.

Mrs. Winchester was clearly falling under his spell. "Oh, I suppose that it couldn't hurt to go over the details once more. But I'm warning you, I've been through this already, and I know what tricks you've got up your sleeve. There are certain assets that I simply will not budge on, so it won't do you any good to try and sway me."

"Ma'am, I wouldn't dream of it," he said sincerely. "I may be a lawyer, but I could tell the second I walked through that door that you're a woman who sticks to your convictions. Such a rare thing to find nowadays. Excuse me for sayin' so, but your husband musta been crazy to give that up."

She looked immediately pleased at this, and laughed a little. "Well I can't say I disagree with _that_. How... _kind _of you to say so." She suddenly turned a keener glance on Sawyer, and Kate detected an almost imperceptible shift in the way she was viewing him. Somehow, he had managed to tilt the balance so that she now felt _herself _to be in control, and she watched him like a famished hawk scouting out prey.

Sawyer smiled, already feeling himself to be hitting his stride. If this woman craved both money _and _men, then there were two separate fronts from which to attack. This couldn't be easier. But now it was time for Kate's job to come into play.

"If you don't mind," he said to Mrs. Winchester, "I sure could use a drink before we get started on this."

"There's a mini-bar in the kitchen... order whatever you like," she replied, accommodatingly.

"But you wouldn't let a gentleman drink alone, now, would you?" he asked.

"Well... I suppose it isn't too early for a daiquiri." She pretended to be hesitant.

"Now you're talkin'," Sawyer said, leaning back against the cushions. "_Rosa_, was it?" he asked, looking at Kate. She smiled in return, not trusting herself with anything else. "I don't suppose I could get you to bring me a martini, by any chance, could I, darlin'? And a daiquiri for Mrs. Winchester here? Sorry," he corrected himself. "_Gloria_."

Kate immediately turned to head toward the kitchen, but was called back by Mrs. Winchester. "Rosa!"

She looked around.

"I believe a response is required when someone gives you a direct order?" She waited impatiently.

Kate slowly walked back to where the two were seated, a look of scorn mixed with mortifying dread on her features. If she could only force herself to get through this, then she would be capable of anything. Inhaling deeply, she let her breath out, staring straight at Sawyer with a pointed look. He smiled at her in amused expectation, obviously enjoying the hell out of this. But there was also a subtle warning in his eyes telling her not to screw things up.

Separating the two words with irritated emphasis, she managed to mutter, "_Yes... sir_."

"Now was that really so hard?" Mrs. Winchester insisted. She turned to Sawyer. "It's her first day. Honestly, I don't know where they find these people. But they're all the same... I guarantee you I'll have to fire her in a month when she gets knocked up by some _janitor _or something."

Sawyer raised his eyebrows, giving Kate a look of mock surprise. "Imagine that."

She smiled at him ironically, wishing she already had the drinks in her hand so that she could _accidentally _drop one in his lap.

"Well, go on!" Mrs. Winchester said, shooing her out of the room. "Are you waiting for them to mix themselves and fly out here on a tray?"

Suppressing the urge for a nasty retort, Kate retreated into the kitchen and located the mini-bar, leaving Sawyer to work his magic. This was her principal duty - to get Mrs. Winchester as drunk as she possibly could, while keeping Sawyer sober and level-headed. To this effect, she mixed the daiquiri with the requisite rum, but also added in a healthy dose of vodka, hoping the funny taste would simply be chalked up to her incompetence. Sawyer's martini she made mostly out of water, with only a dash of alcohol.

As she was finishing up, she heard a voice behind her. "Que tal, _Chula_."

Closing her eyes in weary annoyance, she managed to plaster a sweet smile on her face before she turned around. Jose stood in the doorway, giving her a meaningful smile. He walked toward her and leaned against the counter where she stood.

"Puedo dar te un masaje mas tarda si quieres. Y no importa si no tienes dinero. Acepto _muchos _otros tipos de pago." After saying this, he winked at her.

Kate was alarmed, but tried to stay cool. She had absolutely no idea what he'd said, only that it was probably something sleazy, judging by his body language. Thinking fast, she said in her accent, "I.. am trying to speak only English. To learn better."

He appeared to brush this off as being ridiculous. "Pero ingles es bien feo. Espanol es la idioma _de amor_."

She stared at him blankly, and then smiled again. "Exactly," she said. "But, you know... Mi casa es su casa," she threw in, using the only Spanish phrase she knew.

He nodded slowly at this, confused but acting like she'd said something profound.

"'Scuse me," she said, brushing past him with the drinks. She left the kitchen, leaving him to ponder on her possible meaning.

On her return to the living room, she could see that Sawyer was well into his game, and enjoying himself immensely. The briefcase was open, and he thumbed through its contents with an important air, chatting idly about properties, mortgage values, insurance policies, and other things that Kate didn't understand in the slightest. Mrs. Winchester helped him along by supplying the needed details, which he eagerly grasped onto and made use of, without her even noticing it. Inside the briefcase, Kate could see that there was nothing of any significance whatsoever, but instead what looked like newspaper clippings, receipts, and advertising flyers snatched from bulletin boards. But it didn't matter, because he wielded the case with such an air of authority that he completely sold it.

Watching him work, she was seized with a primal, physical attraction to him that was reminiscent of their early days together, when she'd tried so hard to deny her feelings. There was absolutely no reason in the world why witnessing something so despicable, so underhanded, so _criminal_, should be a turn-on. But there was no fighting the fact that it was undeniably sexy. He looked up and caught her eye, almost as if he sensed her thoughts. She carried his drink to him and set in down in front of him on the table, lingering longer than necessary and letting him get a nice view down the front of her dress. With the hungry way he eyed her, she could tell she was having the desired effect. Next, she gave Mrs. Winchester her daiquiri and inquired if there would be anything else.

"Finish the unpacking. I'll call you when you're needed," she replied imperiously.

After only a few minutes of sorting through the expensive clothing in the bedroom, however, she was called back again for more drinks. Sawyer had downed his in a hurry, encouraging Mrs. Winchester to keep up with him, and her face was already slightly flushed. Kate suppressed a smile and went to refresh their drinks, making the daiquiri even stronger this time, grateful for the fact that Jose was nowhere to be seen.

When she returned, she found that the scam seemed to have moved into a new phase. Sawyer was listening with apparent sympathy to Mrs. Winchester's dramatic outpouring of everything she'd suffered during her divorce proceedings. Kate couldn't imagine how he'd gotten her to open up to him so quickly, but they seemed already the best of friends. Of course, the alcohol wasn't hurting.

"If you had any idea of what I've been through since this whole mess began," she lamented, grabbing the second daiquiri and tossing back half of it without even acknowledging Kate. "It's downright ludicrous what he expects me to endure. Not only did he try to keep me from getting the yacht because he said he'd pledged it to some _Boys and Girls Club _in Harlem..." Here she interrupted herself. "And what are children going to do with a yacht, anyway? It's not as if they can appreciate it! Not only that, but he's turned some of my closest friends against me, trying to make _me _out to be the bad one here! Can you imagine the nerve? Telling them that I'm trying to... to _steal from his charities_, and all kinds of other garbage. You know, I'm just as charitable as the next person! I keep these servants around," she added, gesturing at Kate, "even though they barely speak a word of English and are most likely illegal immigrants. If that's not charity, then what is?" Her voice had risen gradually to a harsh crescendo, and now she collapsed back against her chair, breathing hard. She drank the rest of the daiquiri and shoved the empty glass at Kate.

Sawyer spoke in a placating voice. "I gotta admit, Gloria, hearin' your side of the story just adds a lot more perspective to this whole sorry business. I know I'm here to represent the other side, but I'm only human, after all. It don't take a genius to see you been through hell and back."

"Well," she said, pleased. "It's nice to hear _somebody _acknowledge it."

"Rosa, why don't you freshen up these drinks again?" Sawyer asked smoothly.

"Oh, I really shouldn't," Mrs. Winchester protested. She seemed flustered. "They seem... awfully _strong_, don't they? Rosa, what mixture are you using?"

Kate shrugged, and Sawyer jumped in. "Oh, come on, now, it's good for you to loosen up a little! Let some of that tension go... I ain't gonna tell no one," he said flirtatiously.

"Oh, all right. If you insist," she replied with a coy giggle.

As Kate turned to leave, Mrs. Winchester suddenly reached out and caught her hand, looking up at her intently.

"You know, you look _so _familiar to me. I'm sure I've seen you somewhere before... I just can't put my finger on it."

Kate glanced at Sawyer, alarmed. There was a hint of nervousness in his expression, too.

"Where was it?" Mrs. Winchester went on, as if to herself. "Oh, yes.. Now I remember! I know _exactly _where I've seen you before," she said, almost accusingly, tapping Kate's hand with a sharp fingernail.

Kate waited, her heart pounding.

"You worked at Violet MacGregor's garden party last spring, didn't you? You were the one who broke that antique china platter!"

Kate let out an inaudible sigh of relief, while Sawyer did the same. She nodded. "Si... It was me."

Mrs. Winchester let her hand drop with disdain. "You see what I mean? Even the agency that sends me my maids is trying to take advantage of me... giving me everybody else's _castoffs_. You think they would have tried that while I was still married? Not in a million years! But of course, everyone's out to prey on a poor single woman. Well, I'll have them know that I am _still _Gloria Winchester, and I will not put up with this treatment!" She sighed heavily, and then noticed Kate standing there. "Get the drinks!" she shouted.

Kate went back to the kitchen, hoping with all her might that Sawyer would get every cent he could out of this evil shrew. She looked down into the daiquiri she was mixing with an overpowering urge to toss it back. She'd never needed a drink so badly in her life. And the knowledge that she couldn't have one was like torture. This couldn't possibly get any worse.

"_Chula_..." a voice chanted from behind her.

All right, so it _could _get worse. She turned slowly, trying to maintain a degree of patience.

Jose came nearer again, smiling amorously and holding his hands up in mock surrender. "No Spanish... Only English for you. Okay?"

"Yeah... thanks," she muttered, turning back to the drinks.

"You like this job?" he asked, leaning close to her.

"It's great," she said briefly, glancing at him with a forced smile.

"You know how I get this job?" he asked. She waited, determined not to answer him. He continued anyway. "I don't know how I get this job. Senora Winchester hires me to massage, you know?" He mimicked a rubbing motion in the air with his fingers. "But you know what, chula? I don't know nothing 'bout massages." He laughed and ran his tongue over his lips. "Must be she thinks I'm sexy or something, right?"

"That must be it," Kate said in a strained voice, reaching past him for the lime juice.

"You think about what I said earlier?" he asked, lowering his voice to try to sound tempting.

Since Kate didn't have any idea what he'd said earlier, she lied. "Uh-huh."

"And?" he pressed.

"Jose," she said, trying to keep her patience. "I've very busy right now... Maybe we can.. talk later?"

"Your lips say _go away_, chula, but your body says _come closer_," he said in a sing-song voice. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he grabbed her ass.

Without a split second's hesitation, Kate spun around and elbowed him in the nose, then just as quickly flipped his legs out from under him.

Out in the living room, Sawyer and Mrs. Winchester heard a crash and a thud come from the kitchen. They looked at each other in confusion, and then stood up and approached the door.

"What in God's name was that?" Mrs. Winchester demanded, stopping when she saw Jose crumpled on the floor with Kate standing over him. Sawyer peered around her, relieved to see that nothing had happened to Kate but worried about the scam getting messed up.

Kate looked up, innocently. "He slipped!" she said, gesturing toward Jose, who was rubbing his jaw and muttering _maldita bruja_ under his breath in her general direction.

"For heaven's sake, Jose, haven't you learned how to walk yet?" Mrs. Winchester scolded him. She suddenly reached out and gripped the doorjamb. "Although, now that you mention it... the floor does seem somewhat.. _tilted _in here. I'll have them look into it." Her words were just a bit slurred.

"Let me help you back to your seat, ma'am," Sawyer offered, taking her elbow and giving Kate a warning look.

She shrugged, as if to say, _What was I supposed to do?_

When she finally made it out with the third round of drinks, she could sense by Sawyer's tone of finality that he was getting ready to move in for the kill. "Well," he said, "I can see already that you ain't one to be trifled with when you've set you're mind on somethin', Gloria. And just as a matter of personal opinion, I can't say I blame you. Between you and me, seems like you should be entitled to anything you can manage to get your hands on. And speakin' of hands," he added, suddenly grabbing hers and looking at it closely. "You happen to have just about the finest pair I've ever seen. You a piano player?" he asked, as if he wanted to know her secret.

"Oh, well... I _used _to play, when I was younger. Goodness... look at me, blushing like a schoolgirl. What must you think of me?"

"Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of," he told her. "If I was you, I'd blush just as often as I could. It suits you."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were flirting, Mr. Brown."

"And what's wrong with that?"

Kate made an effort to resist gagging. She tried to catch Sawyer's eye to encourage him to hurry this thing along, but he ignored her.

"Like I was sayin'," he went on, regretfully. "Now that I've heard both sides of the story, I'd just as soon fight for you instead of him.

But I've got my professional obligations... ain't no way around that. It's just a damn shame that you're only entitled to the assets in his possession at the time of the divorce, considering what he's got lined up for himself now. Almost seems like the stars are aligned against you."

"What do you mean?" she asked, intrigued. "What does he have lined up now?"

"Well, I'm not really at liberty to give out any details. It's one of those government deals where everything's supposed to stay a little hush-hush, if you know what I mean. Works out better for both sides if it operates under the table." Sawyer closed his briefcase now, as if he were preparing to leave. "Anyway, I'm awful sorry we couldn't work somethin' out, but I certainly understand your reasons, ma'am, you can be sure of that."

"But I don't understand," she persisted. "Frank isn't involved in government."

"No," Sawyer agreed, standing up. Kate watched, fascinated. "But that's why they need his investment so much, because it comes from outside. That way, when they add their own money, it makes it look like they're just strikin' while the iron's hot, instead of the other way around." He suddenly stopped. "But I already said more than I should have... This is what I get, for havin' those drinks."

"And it's fully guaranteed, I'm assuming," she said. "Frank wouldn't have anything to do with it, if it wasn't."

"Oh, yes ma'am," he said. "Your husband may be a lot of things, but one thing he isn't is _hasty_. He's been scoutin' this deal out for a while now. Guaranteed to return a two-hundred percent profit within a week, and that's just the rock bottom. There's some speculation it could be even more than that. But again, I oughtta keep my mouth shut. I don't mean to make you feel bad or nothin'. I feel just terrible that this money'll be out of your reach."

"Now, wait just a minute... sit back down," she said, as if she were thinking. Sawyer gave Kate a sly smile, and then turned his attention back to Mrs. Winchester as he slowly lowered himself back onto the sofa.

With a frazzled motion, she brushed her hair out of her way, looking very drunk. "That rat bastard," she muttered. "I suppose he wanted you to keep this from me?"

"Well, technically I wasn't supposed to bring it up. I don't know what it is about you, but I just can't seem to keep any secrets where your welfare's concerned."

"Has he already invested the money?"

"Not yet, but..." Sawyer looked at his watch. "That's what I'm about to do, soon as I leave here. Transaction has to be made today... deadline's 5:00 PM, Eastern time. You know him... wanted to wait until the last minute in case he found a more worthy use for the money."

"Pshh," she said derisively. "_Worthy_." She paused. "Then I assume you're solely in charge of handling the transaction?"

"That'd be me."

"Figures that he would use a lawyer instead of stockbroker like normal people. And what percentage is he giving you?"

"Now, ma'am," Sawyer said, suddenly pretending to be bashful. "That's between me and my client... You know I can't tell you that."

"It can't be more than ten percent, can it? Not if I know that cheapskate..."

He pretended he didn't want to say.

"How much is he investing?"

"I ain't at liberty to say... Although you know I'd do it for you, if it was possible."

"Is it more than fifty thousand?"

Sawyer looked pained. "If there was any way..."

"Oh, come on," she said, getting impatient. "What's a little secret between friends? How much?"

He sighed, apparently struggling with his conscience. "All right. He wants to go in with seventy-five."

Gloria digested this bit of information, her eyes glazed and shining with greed. She suddenly leaned forward and spoke confidentially to Sawyer. "If you work for me instead, I'll put in one hundred. _And_... I'll give you twenty percent."

He laughed, as if in shock. "You gotta be kiddin' me. One hundred _thousand _dollars?"

She looked excited. "I've watched that self-righteous do-gooder get more than his fair share of everything good that he's come in contact with for the last forty years, and I'm sick and tired of it. Why do you think he wanted to keep this from me? Because he's selfish and arrogant, that's why! And only to me! Now it's my turn to give him a taste of his own medicine... After everything I've been through, this money by rights belongs to me. You said so yourself, earlier! Now, do we have a deal, or not?"

He wavered for a moment, but then shook his head firmly. "I'm sorry... I just can't do it."

She looked annoyed, but quickly came back with another offer. "I'll tell you what, Mr. Brown. You agree to put my money in instead of my ex-husband's, and I'll give you _twenty-five percent_. Not only that, but I'll take you to dinner tomorrow night to celebrate, as well," she added, as if this last was the clincher.

He looked around, helplessly. "Ma'am, I do believe you're tryin' to take advantage of me."

She laughed gaily, throwing her head back. "Well, then... there's no use fighting it, is there? What do you say?"

He sighed, like he was giving in. "If you had any idea how unethical all this is..."

"Oh, _ethics_," she said, making a dismissive gesture. "Entirely overrated."

"Ain't that the truth," he agreed, glancing at Kate again where stood watching from the kitchen door.

"So? Is that a yes?"

"I got a feelin' you're not gonna back down no matter what I say, so... I guess that's a yes."

She squealed in triumph and clapped her hands together, her eyes still glassy with alcohol.

"But there's no turnin' back once you decide," Sawyer went on carefully, "because like I said, money's gotta go in today."

"Mr. Brown, if you knew me better, you'd know that I'm not one for regrets. I'll have the money transferred right now, while you're here. Just give me the account information."

Still acting reluctant, he pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled down the name and number of one of his own extra accounts, set up for purposes just like this. "I hope you know, I'm gonna lose my job for this," he said, sounding worried.

"Well, you work for me now, so don't give it another thought."

He smiled weakly and handed the paper across to her. She examined it, trying to focus her eyes. "This doesn't look like a government account."

"It isn't. It's just a front... set up like a personal savings account, to filter the money through. It'd be a little too suspicious if old Uncle Sam's name was plastered all over it from the get-go."

"Ah," she said, seeing the wisdom in this. Standing up unsteadily, she said, "Just let me make a few quick phone calls... They know not to waste time when dealing with me. It'll be done in less than an hour, I assure you. Wait here." With an effort to walk in a straight line, she went to the phone in the corner.

Kate moved over to the seating area to clear away the empty glasses. Sawyer handed her his, and their fingers brushed with an electric sensation. They smiled at each other, excited but still tense, while Mrs. Winchester's voice barked out commands into the phone. They were so close, they could almost taste victory... but it wasn't over yet. Everything could still fall apart, if somebody on the other end of the line got suspicious.

To calm her nerves, Kate took the glasses back into the kitchen and washed them, then cleaned up the mess around the bar. Jose had cleared out, apparently for good this time. She hoped the poor kid would find a girl his own age, before he became Mrs. Winchester's boy toy. Assuming, of course, that he wasn't already.

It hadn't been long before she heard herself summoned again. "_Rosa_! Come and show Mr. Brown out!"

With her pulse quickening, she went back in, anxious to see if anything had gone wrong. But Mrs. Winchester stood beaming and flushed in the middle of the room, shaking Sawyer's hand, and she blushed even darker when he brought her fingers to his lips, gallantly.

"Thank you again for such a wonderful opportunity," she said to him.

"I oughtta be the one to thank you, ma'am. I still just can't get over it."

"Well, hopefully it'll sink in a little more before our dinner tomorrow night. How's 8:00?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he said.

"Then I'll have a driver ready," she said, nodding at Kate as a signal to let him out. "Have a wonderful evening!"

"You too," he said, heading toward the exit with Kate. "I'll keep an eye on that account."

At the door, he leaned back inside and whispered, "So, what time you get off work, Rosa?"

She smiled. "Probably in about twenty minutes, when I get fired for breaking the china platter."

"Don't keep me waiting," he urged her.

"I'll do what I can, Mr. Brown."

Grabbing his tie, she pulled him down and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and then shoved him playfully out the door and closed it behind him.

* * *

It was nearly an hour later when Sawyer finally saw Kate walking toward him where he waited nervously at the elevator bank.

"What took you so long?" he asked in irritated relief, punching the button on the wall.

"She passed out," Kate answered, looking slightly guilty, but also amused. "I had to drag her into bed."

Sawyer grinned proudly, and she couldn't resist smiling back.

"So... did the money go through?" she asked, biting her lip and staring in fascination at the way he looked in the suit.

"It's all ours... Every penny," he told her, raising his eyebrows in triumph.

With an excited look, she reached out to touch the lapel of his jacket. He gazed down at her with an equally insistent need, resting his hands on her waist. Just then, a ding sounded as the elevator opened in front of them, empty. Sawyer pulled her into it, quickly pushing one of the highest numbered buttons.

Kate looked at him in confusion as the door slid closed. "Why are we going up?"

"Because I got us a room," he said with a wicked smile.

"You got us a room in _this _hotel? Isn't that kind of risky?"

"Hell, Freckles, after all those cheap-ass motels, don't you think we deserve somethin' nice?"

"Good point," she whispered, reaching for him. At the same time, he lifted her up against the corner, kissing her so hard that her head knocked back against the wall of the elevator. She balanced precariously on the wheelchair rail, wrapping her legs around him, trying to catch her breath as he began kissing her neck. Loosening his tie, she pulled his head back up to kiss him, catching again the faint, unaccustomed scent of aftershave. His hands had already worked their way up under her skirt, and his fingers kneaded her thighs, traveling higher and higher.

"Wait," she panted around his kisses, glancing at the slowly rising numbers of the floor counter. "We're almost there."

He didn't seem to heed her words, because he didn't stop anything he was doing, and she could feel how urgent his need was by the way he pressed against her.

"Sawyer, _wait_," she tried again, giggling as he nipped at her shoulder with his teeth. Then, ignoring her own advice, she ducked her head and started working on the buttons of his shirt, wanting to run her hands and lips over his chest. His breath was hot against her ear, his hands reaching the danger point now, and she gasped, closing her eyes for a second.

The ding of the elevator made her open them again. Over the top of Sawyer's head, where he now had his lips closed around the hollow of her throat, she saw that the elevator door was open. An older, dignified man was standing there, frowning in disapproval at what appeared to be an employee getting friendly with a hotel guest.

"Sawyer," she said, desperately, putting her hands on the sides of his face. He finally looked up, turning around. Without seeming to be inconvenienced in the least, he hoisted her up onto his back, gripping her legs. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding her burning face against the top of his shoulder.

Carrying her on his back out of the elevator, Sawyer gave the man a conspiratorial smile, tilting his head in a cocky manner. "_Damn_... When they say complimentary maid service included, they ain't kiddin', are they?"

The man watched as Sawyer, with Kate clinging to him, unlocked the door across the hall and then closed it behind them, followed by breathless laughter and what sounded like objects being shoved off a table.

Shaking his head gravely at what the world was coming to, the man stepped onto the elevator.


	15. Chapter 15

Somebody mentioned in a review last week that they thought I wasn't going to be updating here at FF. net anymore, and I just wanted to clarify that that isn't the case - I will continue to update in both places until the story is over. And thank you so much for continuing to read it here! ;)

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

There was no head on the pillow next to his. This was the first detail Sawyer was conscious of when he opened his eyes in the morning. He craned his neck to see over the mountain of fluffy bedspread, checking the bathroom, but it was dark and empty, the door wide open. A quick scan of the other side of the luxuriously furnished room showed that there was nobody there, either.

He took in all this information in the first few seconds after waking up. They were as yet only material facts, and they hadn't had a chance to register in his core. He wouldn't allow them to mean anything. Because there were a hundred places she could be, right? He only had to lie here and think of them, rationally, and the mystery would be solved. No doubt about it.

He made his body relax again and then stared at the ceiling, planning out how he would pretend to be asleep when she got back, to let her think he hadn't noticed. Or should he act pissed, instead? Or hurt? That would sacrifice a little pride, but maybe it would keep her from pulling this shit again. He mused over these options, certain that she would come through the door any second now.

But the minutes ticked by, and there was no change in the room. He refused to get out of bed, refused to _move_, even, because that would mean having to face the fact that she wasn't here. As long as he stayed in bed, motionless, it didn't really count, though it was getting harder and harder to force himself to lie here, waiting with willed calmness. Where the hell had she gone? How could she just disappear, without even leaving a note? He felt a queasy sort of dread beginning to seep into his consciousness, and he decided that he couldn't bear it another second. He would go looking for her.

Just as he made up his mind and prepared to rise, he felt a tickle on his stomach, above his navel. Lifting the covers up, he peeked under them, confused. The first thing to register on his vision was a cascade of dark curls splayed out over his own skin. The image hung suspended for a second, meaningless, but then aligned itself into sense. He saw that Kate was bundled up against his side, curled into a ball, her head resting on his bare torso.

Feeling like the most ridiculous jackass in the world, he exhaled in silent, thankful relief and let his head fall back against the pillows, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw, suppressing a groan at his own stupidity.

Now that things were okay again, he wondered how he could have failed to notice the warm weight of her head, or the small lump she formed under the covers. No way _in hell_ would she ever find out what he'd just gone through. He knew how much she would laugh, and he vowed to carry the details to his grave.

Peering under the covers again, he watched her. Her features were blank and composed in sleep, and her breath came softly, disturbing the strands of her hair that lay in its path like the faint breeze from a ceiling fan. But now the light and the cooler air from the upraised blanket penetrated her rest, and she wrinkled her brow in protest.

"Rise and shine, senorita," Sawyer called quietly, in his normal voice. He was already forgetting his brief flirtation with panic.

She began to uncoil her body before responding, and then opened her eyes with reluctance.

"You get lost on your way to the pillow?" he asked her.

Her foot popped out from under the blanket at the side of the bed as she stretched. "Satin sheets," she mumbled in explanation. "They sound good in theory, but they're not very warm."

"Well, damn," he said. "There goes my plan to pack 'em up and take 'em with us."

She smiled a little, pulling herself off of his stomach. "We can still do that."

Crawling on her belly up to the pillows, she leaned onto her hand and stared down at Sawyer. "Hi," she whispered, after a few seconds.

"Hey, there," he said, with a sly look as if they shared a secret. Then he pulled her down to kiss her, his fingers disappearing into her hair. It was a soft kiss, unhurried and not insistent, the kind that he'd only learned how to enjoy with her. He still found it strange how he liked to touch her even when it had nothing to do with sex. Did other guys know about this? And did they just not talk about it? He had the feeling that he'd been let into some kind of privileged, members-only club.

When she'd leaned back again, she said with a lift of the eyebrows, "Long night, huh?"

"I hope you know, you're keepin' that maid outfit," he told her in a low drawl.

"Only if you keep the suit," she agreed, smiling.

"Deal."

For a few seconds, they looked at each other without speaking. The room seemed unnaturally quiet and peaceful after the stress of the last week. The lush carpet and furnishings even drowned out the sound of the other hotel guests.

"So," Sawyer began tentatively, not knowing exactly how to broach this topic, but determined to do it. He decided to plunge right in. "You haven't puked for the last couple days."

Kate continued to stare at him, biting her lip now, wryly, apparently wondering whether she should be pissed or just feel sorry for him. Finally, she lowered her eyes. "Nope," she said. "I guess the fun part's over."

Sawyer watched her, carefully, trying to decipher the precise meaning of those words. She hadn't said anything about having a stomach flu. That was progress, wasn't it?

When she didn't say anything else, he decided to try again. "Then can I go ahead and get rid of those condoms in my wallet... make room for some extra cash, now that we got it to spend?" He tried to sound casual.

She looked back at him as if she thought this was funny. "Yeah... I guess you might as well," she said, and then added, in a bitter tone, "And for the future? Let's try another _brand_, okay?

One corner of his mouth lifted in sympathetic amusement. "Not a bad idea."

Kate sighed heavily and looked across the room. "We really messed up," she said under her breath, like she was talking to herself.

"Then you're positive?" he pressed her. "No more denial?"

She rolled her eyes a little. "Sawyer, I'm almost six weeks late. I've been gaining weight and throwing up, and right now, if somebody put a lamb chop in front of me, so help me God, I would eat it," she said, looking disgusted with herself. "So... yeah. I'm positive." She gave him a meaningful look. "I don't need another test. I just... _know_."

He was quiet for a second. Her words terrified him, even though he'd already suspected the truth, the same as her. He suddenly felt like he was in a tiny room, and the walls were closing in on him, the oxygen disappearing. There was no way out of that room, and he would be stuck there for the rest of his life. But at the same time, from a part of his being that he was barely even aware of, he experienced a renewal of that anticipation and wonder that had surprised him so much when she'd first taken the pregnancy test. He didn't understand how this was possible, and the fact that he could feel such a thing scared him even worse than the news itself.

"I'm sorry," he finally said.

What Sawyer hoped to hear from her in response was something along the lines of _Don't be sorry_, but what she said instead was, "If it's anybody's fault, it's mine. I should have been more careful... I should have at least _tried _to get birth control." She seemed angry at herself, shaking her head. "I guess I just thought in the back of my mind that this kind of thing only happens to _normal _people. Like we had so many other problems that we were... _above it_, somehow." She smiled a little. "You know what I mean?"

"Yeah," he said quietly, knowing exactly what she meant. It was stupid, but he'd felt the same way. He tried to lighten his tone. "But hell, Freckles, look on the bright side. Least now we can afford the fancy diapers, right?"

She made an effort to force a smile, but her eyes gave her away. They were sad and evasive. He could see immediately that he'd gone too far, and that she would refuse to let them continue down this path. She looked away from him, avoiding his gaze. "Sawyer," she whispered, concerned.

"_What_?" he asked, more defensively than he'd meant to.

But she was done, for now. He could tell she was going to change the subject even before she did it. It was almost eerie the way he could predict it, like seeing a few seconds into the future.

Glancing at the clock, she said, "Look how late we slept. It's past noon."

He sighed, annoyed, but he knew there was no way to drag her back into the conversation. She would stubbornly resist, and it could only end in a fight, which he didn't have the energy for.

"Guess we wore ourselves out." He paused. "Still got a few good hours of drivin' left, though, if you want to get a move on."

"Actually, I was thinking we should go back to traveling at night, the way we started out. We kind of got out of the habit for awhile, but we can try it again."

He gave her a suspicious look. "Sure it's not just because you want to stay in this here penthouse for the rest of the day?"

She smiled as if she'd been caught. "That, too."

"Place ain't bad, is it?" Stretching lazily, Sawyer scanned the room, his eyes coming to rest on the plasma television. "Wonder if they got free porn?" he muttered in a thoughtful tone.

Kate didn't look at all thrilled by the prospect. "Well, while you figure that out, I think I'll take a shower." She leaned over and burrowed a quick series of kisses into his neck below his ear before she pulled herself off the bed. Digging through her backpack for something clean, she wrinkled her nose. "Forget the porn... Let's just hope they have free laundry services."

"Hey, you enjoy _your _perks, and I'll enjoy mine," Sawyer said with a grin.

"Why don't you order us something from room service while I'm in there?"

"What're you in the mood for?" he asked her.

She smiled and raised her eyebrows. "The most expensive thing on the menu."

He shook his head, pretending to be disappointed. "Ah... I see how it is. Now that we've come into a little money, you're gonna go and get all _high-maintenance _on me, aren't ya?"

"Maybe," she said jokingly, disappearing into the bathroom.

When he heard the water start running, he didn't immediately reach for the phone or the remote. Instead, he continued to lie there, trying to wrap his mind around what she'd finally admitted to and what it meant for them. It was only when the sound of the blow-dryer reached his ears that he remembered to order the food.

* * *

They didn't get around to leaving the comfort of the room until after 9:00 p.m., sneaking down the fire-exit stairwell in order to avoid Sawyer's hot date. Kate was convinced that Mrs. Winchester had been too drunk to remember anything about their dinner arrangements, and probably wouldn't even recall transferring her money, but Sawyer liked to think that he wasn't quite _that _easy to forget. So, to be on the safe side, they avoided the elevators and the main lobby.

As usual, Kate placed herself in charge of the maps, and Sawyer drove where she told him to. Although this situation annoyed him at times, he had to admit that it was nice not to have to worry about directions. At least this way if they got lost, he could blame it on her.

They grabbed a midnight snack at a cheap Mexican joint that was open all night, but aside from a few stops to fill up the tank, this was their only detour. Sawyer drove through the night, anxious for morning when the banks would open and he could make a sizeable withdrawal. Until he could hold the cash in his hands, he wouldn't feel completely safe.

To his surprise, Kate showed no signs of drowsiness like she normally did. She sat rigid and upright in the seat next to him, staring out into the night, every once in awhile studying the atlas and telling him where to turn. At times she repeated herself without even appearing to realize it. He could sense an anxious tension in her attitude, but he didn't know what was causing it. To him, it seemed like the worst was over, and they should finally be able to relax a bit. But she only became more withdrawn and distracted as they traveled, and he gave up on hoping she would rest.

Around four in the morning, just when he was on the verge of suggesting they give it up for the night and find a place to crash, he noticed her peering through the front glass, leaning forward almost eagerly. They were on a narrow, two-lane country highway, and looming up out of the darkness was a sign. His eyesight wasn't what it used to be, and it was only when they got closer and the headlights reflected off of it that he could read it: _You are now leaving Illinois. Please visit again_. With a strange sense of foreboding, he kept going, and within a few seconds, another sign appeared. He knew what it would say before he even got close enough to make out the letters. To be positive, he slowed down and looked at it anyway. _Welcome to Iowa, the Hawkeye state_! it proclaimed.

He glanced over at Kate, questioningly, but she remained facing the front, refusing to look at him.

"There's a turn-off in about a mile a half," she said in a quiet voice. "You should go left."

He turned his attention back to the road, not saying anything for a few seconds.

"We don't have to do this, you know," he finally told her. "There's other ways up there... We can go through Wisconsin, into Minnesota... bypass the whole damn state. I can turn around right now and go back the other way."

"I know," she said. "But I want you to keep going."

He sighed, sensing that nothing good could possibly come of this. But he complied with her wishes, and the truck continued to make its way deeper into Iowa.

They drove on for another hour or so. To his disappointment, she made him pass Cedar Rapids, where he'd hoped they could stop to sleep. As they headed northwest, the frequency of the turns she asked him to take increased, and he began to suspect that she was searching for a particular place. And that place sure as hell wasn't Canada.

On a pitch black dirt road out in the middle of nowhere, where the only thing visible was the dust raised from the truck's tires, she finally told him to slow down. Looking out the windows, she seemed to be trying to find something familiar, something to guide herself by. "There!" she suddenly exclaimed. "Stop.. right up here, by this fence."

He pulled over a little, letting the motor idle, trying to see what she was looking at. On one side of the road was a field, but on the other side there was a wooded area, and he couldn't see very far into it.

"Shut the engine off," she said.

He did, and they were plunged into instant silence. They sat there without speaking. Sawyer turned to her, watching her profile, trying to perceive her emotions through the darkness. "Kate," he said wearily. "Where the hell are we at?"

She glanced at him, but didn't answer. Instead, she opened her door and stepped out, shutting it firmly behind her. He closed his eyes in dread for a second, already guessing what this place was. He started to wish that he'd ignored her and gone straight back into Illinois. After waiting a minute, he grabbed a small flashlight from the glove box and then climbed out and slammed his door. Crunching through the dried weeds in the ditch, he joined her on the side of the road with the trees. She was standing at the end of a rutted gravel driveway. From two low metal poles on either side, a chain hung across it, bowed down in the middle with a sign that said _Private Property _and _No Trespassing_.

Kate stepped over the chain and walked farther up the path. He followed her, reluctantly. The only sound came from their footsteps. The air was bitterly cold, and Sawyer caught a faint whiff of cow manure.

When she stopped, he halted beside her. She stared straight ahead at a flat square-shaped stone structure, raised about three feet off the ground. It was the foundation of a house that was no longer there.

She began to move toward it, but he reached out and caught her arm. "Hey," he said, drawing her back. "You sure you want to do this?"

He could just barely discern her faint nod. "I want to see it," she said, trying to make him understand. "I just... I need to see it again."

"It don't look like there's much left to see," he said.

She looked around again. "I know. I can't believe there's nothing here," she whispered.

"_Yeah_..." he said. "Funny how explosions tend to have that effect." Then he could have kicked himself. This wasn't really the time for sarcasm, and the sad look she gave him made him feel even more like a world-class dick. He kicked at a rock, hanging his head apologetically.

"I just meant that I'm surprised nobody's rebuilt... Or at least put in a mobile home, or something tacky like that," she explained. "But there's... _nothing_. It's like nobody's even been here."

She looked toward the foundation with an air of betrayal. He knew exactly how she was feeling. It was the same way he'd felt when he'd purchased his childhood home, only to find the old furniture in the same places, coated with dust and cobwebs, after nearly thirty years. It was like being a ghost, haunting your own past. He'd experienced a sense of muted outrage, as if the impersonal outside world had some responsibility to move life along, to sweep things into the current of history, to clean up after the mess that had been made. But that world had failed him, the same way it had now failed her. Time itself had forgotten them.

Kate eventually forced herself to move again. When she reached the foundation, she hoisted herself up onto the edge of it, and then stood and watched Sawyer, following him with her eyes as he approached and stood below her.

"Want me to wait in the truck?" he offered softly.

After a few seconds of hesitation, she shook her head. "No." She paused. "I mean, you can if you want, but... I thought you'd want to see where I..." she trailed off, unsure how to finish.

He could see in her eyes that she needed him, and he wasn't about to leave her. "How 'bout you give me the grand tour?" he said.

She smiled a little, gratefully, and then reached down, holding her hand out to him. He took it, dragging himself up to stand next to her. She let him put his arm around her and pull her close to him, and then she gazed around the square foundation silently. Sawyer trailed the beam of the flashlight along the floor. A bulldozer had cleared off the bulk of the debris, but the job had been done hastily, with little attention to detail. There was still a layer of ashes and scattered lumps of blackened, unrecognizable objects.

He felt Kate draw in a deep, fortifying breath, and then release it shakily. Overwhelmed by a sudden impulse, he gripped her tighter and pressed his lips to the side of her head almost fiercely. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, like she was drawing strength. Then she looked around her again and started talking. "There, um..." she stopped, then tried again. "There was a screened-in porch, all along the front, here. It was mostly filled with junk."

"Yeah?" Sawyer asked, helping her along. "What kinda junk?" With his arm still slung around her, they walked further towards the center.

"Farming stuff, mostly. And lumber from the treehouses I was always trying to build," she answered. He gave her an impressed look.

"The kitchen was here, on the right, past the front door," she went on, softly. "The living room was over there... on the left. And behind it was, um..." She stopped again, swallowing back emotion. Forcing herself to go on, she muttered in a low voice, "It was their room." She looked toward the area she spoke of, bitterly, and then turned away.

"The bathroom was next to the pantry... over here. There was only one," she explained, glancing at him, seeming defensive for some reason.

She next led him into the back right corner of the stone foundation, behind where the kitchen was supposed to be. She looked around her critically. "And..." She stopped and turned, facing him, holding her arms out like a game show model. "This was my room."

He inspected it slowly, taking in the whole area. "I like it," he told her, with the hint of a smile. "Hell of a view."

She nodded, almost laughing, and then bit her lower lip. "Well, I hated it," she said. "I spent most of my time outside. This room was... It was _tiny_. And it didn't even have a lock on the door." She thought, then seemed to reconsider. "Actually, it did, but it was on the wrong side. It was to lock me _in_." Kate looked at Sawyer, wondering how he was taking this. She tried to sound amused, but her voice was strained under the effort. "They only did it because I tried to run away so many times. But... I never made it very far. They always found me, and brought me back." She paused, her eyes taking on a far-away look, and she unconsciously rubbed her wrist. "Maybe I didn't try hard enough, though," she finished quietly. "I just wanted to get as far away from here as I could."

_Then why in God's name did you come back now?_ he wanted to ask her. But he couldn't. He didn't know what to say. Her words had a disturbing, dismal effect on him. He could tell there were details she was leaving out, and he imagined that she'd been put in here, not always to be kept safe, but sometimes to be kept out of the way. She'd probably had to stand on the other side of this door that no longer existed, listening to horrible things that she shouldn't have had to hear, helpless and unable to do anything about it, pounding on the wood until her hands were bruised. No wonder she had such a terror of being locked in a cell.

She stared at the ground, thoughtful, and then dropped to her knees. He watched, confused, as she started to dig through piles of burned paper and scorched plastic. Her fingers quickly became blackened by the soot, and her jeans were already destroyed, but she didn't seem to have any awareness of this at all. She kept sifting through the debris, more frantically now, as if she were desperate to find something, even without knowing what she was looking for. She lifted twisted nails and melted, distorted chunks of metal to the light, but cast them aside one after another, disappointed.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, wanting her to stop. She was getting filthier and more agitated by the second, and it was painful to watch.

He was just about to grab her and pull her up to her feet when she quit of her own accord, staring down into her palm at something. She spat on it and wiped it on her shirt, leaving a black streak on the cotton material. He could see by the dull glint that it was a piece of gold-plated metal, burned on the edges. As Kate looked at it, her expression became wistful. She almost smiled. With her fingernail, she scraped away the film from the front, revealing indented letters.

"What's it say?" he asked, curious.

She looked at it for a few more seconds, and then handed it up to him. He shone the beam of the flashlight onto it, barely making out the faint words _1st place_, _4-H Livestock Fair, 1990. _

"I raised a pig," she said quietly, to elaborate.

He looked down at her. "You were in the _4-H Club_?"

She smiled shyly. "Yeah," she said, making that funny grimace she made when she was embarrassed. "Don't tell anyone." He was pretty sure she was blushing a little, and he felt a sudden wave of affection for her that was so strong it almost knocked him down.

She continued to watch him, crouched on her knees in the ashes. He ran his fingers over the prize medal, from the rough outer edges to the smooth, unblemished center.

"You mind if I keep this?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

She shrugged. "I don't care." She looked pleased, though.

He slipped it into his pocket. "Would you get off the damn ground now, please?" he asked.

She stood, brushing off her jeans and hands as well as she could.

They both moved closer to the edge of the foundation, and stood looking toward the east. The sun was just beginning to come up, and the sky was a transparent, silky gold, starting to become pink on the horizon.

"We better get outta here, pretty soon," Sawyer said. "Folks around here'll be more likely to recognize you. We can't take any chances."

"I know," she agreed, still looking at the sunrise. She didn't move.

An owl suddenly hooted nearby, loudly, in a tree beside where the house used to stand. Kate jumped a little, turning toward the eerie sound. Sawyer placed his hand on the small of her back. "_Creepy-ass things_," he muttered.

She reluctantly tore her eyes away. "I fell out of that tree once.. when I was nine," she told him, as if she were trying to distract herself. "Broke my arm."

"That so?" he asked.

"You know what the doctor said?"

"What'd he say?"

She smiled. "He said to stop climbing on stuff."

"Well, good thing you listened," Sawyer said, tilting his head.

She gave him a sideways glance, and he grinned at her.

They looked toward the horizon again, and he grew more serious. "Can I ask you somethin' Freckles? What the hell are we out here for? Why'd you want to come back to this place?"

She shivered in the chill air, pulling her coat tighter around her. "I wanted to show you where I grew up. I already saw your house, so... I wanted to show you mine. Or what's left of it."

He watched her closely, knowing that wasn't the whole truth. He couldn't shake the feeling that being here was a terrible idea.

After a few seconds, she said, without looking at him, "Sawyer?"

He turned toward her, waiting.

"If I could go back to that night... If I had a second chance to live it all over again... Do you think I would still do it?"

He didn't know what to say at first, and the question deeply unnerved him. "What the hell are you askin' _me _for?" he said, squinting in confusion.

She finally turned her eyes to his, and she looked scared to death.

"Because I don't know the answer," she whispered.

They stared at each other, their fears too raw and near the surface to allow them to risk words. Sawyer was the first to look away, and he stepped down off of the stone foundation, feeling the frost crackle under his shoes. "Come on," he said. Kate started to jump down, but he caught her before she could and swung her the few feet to the ground. She didn't comment on this action that normally would have irritated her, but only moved toward the truck, back down the driveway.

After she'd stepped over the _No Trespassing_ chain, she paused and gazed back at where the house had once been. In the early morning light, the place could be seen from the road. Sawyer watched Kate, not wanting to rush her but looking forward to getting the hell out of here. The expression on her face was haunted and resentful, and without even seeming to realize what she was doing, she placed one trembling hand flat over her stomach, and then clenched her fingers into a fist, gripping her shirt so hard that the fabric pleated and her knuckles turned white. The sooty patch disappeared under her hand.

"Let's go find someplace to sleep," Sawyer said, unwilling to let her stay here another minute. It was already certain that the effects of this visit wouldn't soon wear off, and it was the last thing in the world they needed right now. He took her elbow, which finally broke the spell. She let him lead her around to the passenger side, and he could tell how exhausted she was by the limp way she climbed up into the seat.

He went back around to the driver's side, glancing back again with a scowl of hatred at the empty space past the fence. He felt a boiling rage that he tried to ignore, and he wished he could do something tangible to release his emotions... Piss on the foundation, maybe, or break it up with a sledgehammer, or blow the whole goddamn thing to hell and back. She'd done a pretty decent job, but it still wasn't good enough. An atom bomb would have been more appropriate. He only thanked God that the son-of-a-bitch was already dead. If not, he would have done it himself.

Getting into the truck, he started the engine and backed up fast, spinning the tires, angling around and snapping through the chain that blocked the driveway. Both posts flew out of the ground and the sign was crushed under the wheels. Kate glanced through the rear glass calmly, not even surprised. She gave him a thankful, tired half-smile.

Still spewing gravel from the tires, he shifted to drive and pulled out fast, onto the road. This time, neither of them looked back.


	16. Chapter 16

Same thing I said at Lost-forum, but I must say it again. Angst galore here, folks! I suppose this won't exactly make for _fun_ reading, but this stuff had to be dealt with, before the fic spontaneously combusted from the tension. I would like to know your opinions, though, on the way I portrayed Kate and Sawyer's psychological issues... They're both such complex, deep characters, and there are so many interpretations. This is the way I see it playing out, if a pregnancy were involved, but I'm curious to know if ya'll agree or not. So, I leave you in peace to read!

As always, thanks a million times over for your reviews. I love doing this so much that I'm putting off getting another job so that I have more time to write. Lol.. Pretty sad, huh?

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

It wasn't a hotel that they ended up at, but in some ways it was even better. The rooms, although not particularly large, were detached from each other in separate buildings, described by the sign as _villas_. The one Sawyer chose wasn't the most expensive, but it wasn't the cheapest either. It was a decent-sized room, well-furnished, and it overlooked a golf course and a small lake. It was also partially secluded behind a walled garden, which made him feel safer since they were still stuck in Iowa, not far from Kate's hometown.

To her, though, it didn't seem to make much difference how safe they were, a detail Sawyer noted with mild worry. She was distant and withdrawn during the drive here, and she followed him to the door and waited as he unlocked it, quietly and without asking any questions. She didn't look around or make any comments about the area, and she didn't seem to be aware of her surroundings at all.

Once inside, she settled herself in a window seat and stared out at the distant golfers.

Sawyer watched her for a few seconds. "Why don't you take your coat off and stay a spell," he suggested, aware of how lame the joke was but making it anyway.

She looked at him, not seeming to understand. Then she glanced down at herself, realizing what he meant, and shrugged off her coat, tossing it into a nearby chair and turning back to the window.

He breathed out slowly, with exaggerated patience. "I'm gonna get cleaned up."

She didn't look around as he went toward the bathroom.

After he'd showered, he emerged wearing only boxers and a t-shirt and sat on the bed, making a few phone calls to area banks, trying to speak in a low voice so that Kate wouldn't detect how nervous he was. But she hadn't moved and didn't appear to be listening, so his efforts probably weren't necessary.

He got dressed in the suit again and tried to tame his hair. When he went to stand in front of Kate, it took her a few seconds to register his presence and glance up. Her eyes traveled from his shoes to his face, confused.

"You're leaving?"

"Gotta go take care of the money... close out the account, start a new one somewhere else, so they won't be able to trace it." He sat down across from her in the window seat. "Closest branch is about twenty miles from here, so it shouldn't take too long. I'll probably only be gone a few hours."

She didn't say anything.

"I can't wait any longer to do this. Once she gets suspicious..."

"I know," Kate interrupted. "You should go. I'll be fine here."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she said, with a strained, false smile.

"You oughtta try and get some sleep... You never closed your eyes last night." He put his hand in the space where her neck met her shoulder and squeezed in a rhythmic motion, gently.

"Maybe later," she said. "I'm not really that tired." But her lids drooped under the soft movement of his fingers, and it was clear that she was lying. He'd seen her do this before - force herself to stay awake using sheer willpower, until the point was reached where her body took over the job and refused to allow her to relax even when she wanted to. It seemed to be her only defense against nightmares. She covered his hand with her own to force him to stop. "Better get going," she whispered.

"Yeah," he agreed, without moving yet. He withdrew his arm and leaned back. "You need anything while I'm out?"

No answer. She was looking down at her knees, with a far-away expression.

"Kate."

She shook herself. "What?"

"You want me to pick up anything while I'm in town? Anything we're runnin' low on?" He watched her closely.

She looked over at their pile of luggage, as if it would help jog her memory. "I don't think so. We're okay for now."

He waited, trying to think of something else to say. Now that the moment was here, he didn't really want to leave her. But there was another part of him that was dying to get away from her, from those sad, vacant eyes, from the obligation to try to distract her. This desire to leave made him feel like a worthless jerk, but he couldn't help it. He really didn't know what to do with her when she was like this. Once again, he cursed himself for letting her return to the site of her childhood home last night. It had been a huge mistake, just as he'd known it would be. If only she weren't so damn _stubborn_, he might have been able to talk her out of it. But he knew it would have been a lost cause.

"Then I guess I'll take off," he said, standing up slowly.

She made an effort to focus her attention on him. "Good luck."

"Ain't nothin' to it," he answered with false confidence. "Hell, the hard part's over, right?"

She gave him a weak smile, as if she hadn't really been listening but wanted to be polite. He looked at her sadly, with the sudden impression that she wanted him to hurry up and go. And even though he shared that wish at the moment, it still hurt.

He bent down to kiss her, and her lips were slack and unresponsive.

"Be back soon," he whispered.

She nodded, not meeting his eyes.

He cast one more worried glance at her before he picked up the room key and left.

* * *

Everything took longer than he'd hoped it would. The bank people, of course, were rightfully suspicious of someone who wanted to close out an account and extract such a large sum of money, and even though he had mountains of fake ID, it still took over an hour to assuage their fears. The part he played required him to be smooth, polished, and collected, which normally would have been easy for him. But today, it was a strain, and he had to work at it. He hadn't slept last night, and he was nervous about being trailed by the Feds. But what really distracted him was the thought of Kate, alone in the hotel villa. The vision was lurking in his mind throughout the entire process, and he unconsciously tried to hurry things along in order to get back to her.

By the time the account was closed and he actually had the money, he was so drained that he didn't want to bother with the hassle of opening another account at a different bank. Maybe later, but not today. He got them some food, and then he made one more stop before he drove back to the room, hoping it wouldn't turn out to be necessary.

When he got to the door, he unlocked it as quietly as possible, assuming she might be asleep. He pushed it open, trying not to make any noise, and looked toward the bed. It was empty. He scanned the room, and then suppressed a groan of frustration. She was still sitting in the goddamn _window seat_. It didn't look like she'd moved at all.

She looked up at him as he moved toward her. "Hey. That was quick."

"Not really," he said, wondering if she was experiencing some kind of time distortion. He noticed that her face was drawn and haggard, and she seemed exhausted and tense at the same time.

"Everything go okay?" she asked.

He set his heavy briefcase onto the seat in front of her. "That's it, right there. A hundred grand."

She seemed mildly surprised. "They actually gave it all to you?" She shook her head, amused. "Those morons."

"First rule of scamming, sweetheart," he said. "Never underestimate the power of a cocky swagger and a fancy suit." He paused, his thumb on the clasp of the case. "You want to see it?"

She winced a little. "Not right now."

He set it on the floor and then lowered himself across from her again, scrutinizing her features. "You even move from this spot, the entire time I was gone?"

"_Yes_," she said defensively. She waited, then added, "I brushed my teeth."

He had to smile. "My mistake."

She tucked her hair behind her ears, trying to look like she felt fine. He thought he detected a faint trembling in her hands.

"Do I smell food?" she asked.

"Yep," he said. He gestured toward the bag he'd dropped on the floor by their feet. "And I also brought you somethin' else." Reluctantly, he took a small bottle from his jacket pocket and handed it across to her. "Figured it might come in handy."

She looked confused, and then squinted at the label. "_Sleeping _pills?" She looked up. "Sawyer, I can't take these. They could hurt - " Here she bit her words off, quickly, embarrassed. She tried again. "I mean, they're not safe."

"I'm one step ahead of you, Ms. Know-it-all. Already asked the guy behind the counter, and he said it'd be fine... just as long as you don't take more than two at a time."

She was skeptical. "You really talked to the pharmacist?"

"What... you think I just made that up?" he asked, offended.

She looked down at the label again, not directly answering the question. "I appreciate the thought... But I don't take sleeping pills. _Ever_. They make me hallucinate, say weird things... Sometimes they make the dreams worse. It isn't worth it."

"These _won't_," he insisted. "They ain't that strong... About as mild as cough syrup, the man said."

Kate sighed, rolling the bottle in her hands and looking out the window again. "I don't want to sleep, Sawyer," she whispered in a miserable voice.

"I know you don't," he said softly, not taking his eyes off her. "But you're gonna have to, at some point. You keep this up, you'll make yourself sick. That what you want?"

She looked back at him, but she didn't answer.

He reached over and took the bottle from her, shaking out a few of the pills into his hand. Leaning over, he tugged a small carton of juice from the plastic bag on the floor. He shook it and then ripped the top open. She watched all this without saying anything, as if it had nothing to do with her.

Sawyer held out the pills to her. "Here. Take 'em," he said.

Her tired eyes met his, and the two of them stared at each other in silent argument. Neither had the energy for actual words.

Finally, Kate looked down, a sign of conceding. She lifted her hand, and he dropped the caplets into her palm. She took the juice from him and tossed the pills back in her throat, chasing them with a drink from the carton.

"Happy now?" she asked wearily.

He kept watching her, suspicious.

"Do you want to check to make sure I swallowed?" she demanded, a little pissed.

A slow smile appeared on his face, and he decided to trust her. "Let's eat," he said, pulling up the bag of food.

While they picked at the takeout and tried to convince themselves that they had more appetite than they really felt, they gazed out the window at the manicured green course spread out over the sloping hills.

"_Golf_," Sawyer muttered contemptuously under his breath. "Talk about a waste of good land."

"Have you ever played it?" Kate asked, curious.

He looked at her. "What the hell do you think?"

She looked amused. It was all the answer she needed.

"So who's winning?" he asked, turning back to the window.

"The fat guy in the blue shirt," she told him between bites. "I think."

Sawyer gave a low whistle. "I can see why you're glued to your seat watchin' _that _stud, Freckles," he said sarcastically. "Hell, it ain't all of us can look that good in khakis." He continued to watch the group. "See the woman with the hat?"

"Yeah," Kate said, interested in spite of herself.

"She's screwin' him."

"There's _no way _you could possibly tell that from here."

"You don't believe me? I bet you fifty thousand bucks they just climbed out of the back seat of his SUV."

She shook her head, smiling.

"Look!" Sawyer said, justifying himself. "Now he's got his hand on her ass! What'd I tell you?"

Kate looked. "Well," she said, trying to be diplomatic. "Maybe they're married."

"Oh, they're _married_," he agreed, raising his eyebrows. "Just not to each other."

She laughed a little. Sawyer was glad he could at least entertain her. It didn't change anything, but it was good to see her smile.

After a few minutes, she cleared away their mostly uneaten food, putting everything back into the bag. He was starting to become aware of his own lack of sleep now, and he tugged at his tie in an irritated manner, feeling choked.

"Let me do it," Kate said, noticing his efforts. Balancing on her knees in front of him in the window seat, she worked at loosening the knot. She pushed her hair out of the way, and he watched her face, so close to his, feeling the warmth from her skin. "There," she said, pulling the tie off of his neck. "Better?"

He reached up and cupped her face, kissing her again. She leaned into him, more responsive this time. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders. After he moved back, she kept her eyes closed for a few seconds.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked quietly.

She seemed to consider. "Yeah. I'm fine." She paused, giving him a sad smile. "I'll be glad to get out of Iowa, though. This time I don't think I'll ever come back."

"Good plan," he said.

She nodded, and then blinked heavily, fighting to stay awake. It seemed the pills were starting to take effect. "Damn it," she muttered, annoyed.

Sawyer tried not to laugh. "That bed don't look half bad right now, does it? All those nice, fluffy pillows... probably one of those expensive mattresses that you just sink into..."

"Stop it," she said with a drowsy smile.

Knowing he was winning, he stood up and closed the heavy, dark curtain of the window they sat by. The room became considerably darker. Moving over to the other windows, he did the same thing. Now the room was as black as night, with only a tiny sliver of white light coming from the edge of one set of drapes. He made his way back over to her and dragged her up from the window seat. She sighed, but didn't protest, and they both shed their outer clothes onto the floor and then pulled back the heavy bedspread, climbing in without a word.

Sawyer let himself stretch out, groaning in pleasure at how good the bed felt. He could sense Kate smiling, even in the darkness. "What?" he asked.

"It's always the same," she murmured sleepily, not enunciating her words. "I just noticed it. We always take the same sides."

"What are you talkin' about?" he said, confused.

"I'm always on your left," she whispered. He could tell she was almost out. "In every bed we've ever slept in. Why do you think that is?"

Sawyer considered for a second. He'd never given it any thought before, but she was right. "Hell if I know," he finally answered. "Guess it just feels right this way."

"Yeah," she agreed.

She didn't say anything more, and her breathing evened out, becoming slow and deep. Listening to it, Sawyer fell asleep.

* * *

Kate sat bolt upright, gasping.

Sawyer struggled into consciousness, guessing what was happening even before he was fully awake. He pulled himself up to a sitting position and automatically reached out for her, but she was climbing out of the bed, struggling to free herself from the blankets. He watched her, confused, and then looked around. According to the bedside clock, they'd been asleep for about three hours.

While he calculated this, Kate began to feel around on the floor for her clothes, desperately. She pulled them on with shaking arms.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, squinting. He tried to clear his mind of the fog of sleep.

With her coat in a bundle in her arms, she moved toward the door.

He had just time to realize where she was headed, and he jumped out of bed and hurried to get there first, blocking her.

She peered at him through the darkness, bewildered, like she'd never seen him before. "_Move_," she said.

"What the hell are you doin'?" he repeated. "Did you have a nightmare?"

The question threw her, and she stepped back, thinking. She had an abstracted, frantic air that was scaring the hell out of him. "Get away from the door," she pleaded. "I have to leave."

"Oh, you have to leave, do you?" he asked, humoring her. "And just where do you plan on goin'?"

Suddenly, she froze, as if she were listening to something far away. Then she reached out and grabbed his hand, pressing it to her stomach, down low. "Do you feel that?" she asked, breathless and trembling.

He swallowed, experiencing a sudden dread. He now remembered what she'd said earlier about sleeping pills making her hallucinate. He'd assumed she'd just been exaggerating to avoid taking them. "I don't feel anything," he said firmly. "It's much too early for that."

She shook her head, vehement. "No... I can feel it. It never sleeps when I do."

"It's just your imagination," he whispered, chills raising along his neck. He wondered how the hell he could get her back to bed.

"I have to tell you something." Stepping closer to him, she lowered her voice, as if afraid she would be overheard. He could see her lips moving, the serious crease in her brow as she said, "I don't think it _ever sleeps at all_."

"Kate," he said, worried. "You're not makin' any sense."

She gave him a look as if she couldn't trust him, a paranoid look. Her eyes glowed with fear. "Let me out," she said again.

"I don't think so."

"You're just gonna keep me locked in here?"

"Until those pills wear off and you start actin' like yourself again, _yeah_. Suppose I am."

Turning away, she started to pace back and forth, chewing on the end of a strand of hair. He'd never seen her look so out of touch with reality before. _Christ_, why couldn't he have just listened to her earlier?

She began to mutter a phrase, repeating it a few times like a mantra she was using to calm herself. "I hate being locked in... I hate being locked in..."

"I know that," Sawyer interrupted her, wanting her to stop. He moved toward her, but she backed away. "Look, why don't you just lie back down for a few minutes..." She tried to dodge past him to the door, but he blocked it again.

She turned on him a look filled with venom. "I never wanted any of this, you know," she hissed at him.

"Any of what?" he asked, stalling for time and hoping she would soon come to her senses.

"All I wanted was a place to stay," she went on. "I just... I just needed a place to hide out for a few days. That was _all_. Not this. I never asked for any of this."

"You think _I _did?" he shot back, knowing it was useless to argue with her right now, but getting pissed anyway. "No offense, sweet cheeks, but runnin' from the cops with you _and _a kid on the way wasn't exactly one of my New Year's resolutions, either!"

"You can say whatever you want," she said, "but I don't believe it. Because deep down, Sawyer... This is what you've _always _wanted. You want a real family, because you've _never had one_," she said, her voice shaking uncontrollably.

He felt like somebody had knocked the air out of him. "And you _have_?" he said in a low, incredulous voice.

She stared at him, hurt, but then looked away, refusing to answer. Her gaze was still wild and unfocused.

"But you have to stop thinking about it like it's _ours_," she continued, as if she were just picking up where she'd left off. "It's _not_."

"'Fraid I got bad news for you, pumpkin," Sawyer said. "Because unless there's some _Rosemary's Baby _shit goin' on here that you haven't told me about, I'm pretty damn sure it's ours."

She shook her head violently. "It'll _never _be ours." Lowering her voice again, she whispered, "It's part of _him_. Don't you understand that?" Her face was agony incarnate. "I could feel it last night when we were there... at the house. It'll always be part of _him_. Just like I am. I can't bring anything _good _into the world... I can't be a _mother_!" She looked around her, helpless. "This was never supposed to happen."

He listened to her, horrified. She was clearly not lucid, and this was in some ways more like a dream than a conscious rant. He doubted she would even remember it in the morning. But he also knew that her words weren't just random. What she was saying made a bizarre, terrible kind of sense to her. It probably wasn't something she even acknowledged to herself. But he finally understood why she'd taken so long to admit to what they'd both already known. Her list of practical, logical reasons why it could never work had been like a whitewash, painted over and obscuring this hidden, primal fear.

And if this was the way she truly felt, then he suddenly understood that she was disturbed on a level he'd never even suspected. Hell, he was fucked up, too, but at least his issues _made sense_. Hers were _scary _crazy. She'd been poisoned, growing up. But she'd mistaken the source of that poison, believing that it originated within herself, rather than from her circumstances. And as much as he loathed himself at times, that was one mistake that he'd never made regarding his own life. If anything, he'd gone too far in the opposite direction, blaming others for the darkness present in him, rather than himself.

She was still watching him, breathing hard, her face contorted in distress.

"Listen to me," he said, trying to speak in a calm, rational voice. "I'm not gonna try to argue with you and tell you that you're wrong... Because if you want to get technical, then _yeah_... I guess you're right. Of course it's part of _him_. So what? Every person on this planet's got four grandparents, right? There's not really any way _around _that, sweetheart."

"_Grandparents_?" she repeated, as if she found the word hilarious. "This kid won't have any _grandparents_, Sawyer... They're all dead! Remember?" She laughed bitterly. "And only one from natural causes!"

"Just shut up," he said fiercely, getting angry again. This wasn't doing any good at all. God, he wished she would just pass out, back into oblivion. How long could this go on? "I'm startin' to think maybe you oughtta be in a psych ward, Freckles."

These words wounded her, even through her daze. She looked like she'd been slapped. He could see their effect on her, but he went on, glad to at least have her attention.

"You even realize that you're gettin' this worked up over somethin' that hasn't even been _born _yet? It's a baby, for Christ's sake! It doesn't matter who it's related to! You think it's in there right now plotting murder? I'm guessin' it'll be innocent for a _few _years, at least!" he said with sarcasm.

She was fighting tears. After a few seconds, she whispered, "You really think anything that comes from us can ever be innocent?"

He was taken aback by the absurdity of this, and also by its terrifying logic.

"You've really lost your mind, haven't you?" he said in wonder.

She made an effort to pull herself together, but it was obvious there wasn't much chance of success. She still had the air of a sleepwalker, and Sawyer wondered if she was truly awake.

"Maybe you're right," she said. "Maybe it _is _innocent. But then the best thing to do is to get it as far away from us as possible." She took a step nearer to him, looking up into his face intently. In a fierce, determined voice, she said, "Because if I have it... We are _not _keeping it, Sawyer."

She waited a second, and then repeated, more quietly, "_We're not keeping it_."

He leaned against the door, looking at her, not moving. In that moment, he hated her more than he'd ever hated anybody in his life. He hated her in the way you can only hate someone you love.

"We'll talk about it later," he said, barely above a whisper. He didn't trust himself to say anything else.

She suddenly lifted her hands to the sides of her head and swayed slightly, like she was dizzy. He reached an arm out to steady her. "Let's just get back to bed, all right?"

Closing her eyes and grimacing, she nodded.

Moving out into the room, he tried to guide her back to the bed. But he saw a flash of decision in her eyes, and he knew what she was going to do in the same instant she did.

She darted toward the door again, going around him. Her hands fell on the knob, and he grabbed her from behind, pulling her roughly away from it. She flew back at him, trying to shove him out of the way, and he felt her fingernails digging into his arm, enough to draw blood. Her knee went for his groin, but he deflected it by turning, blocking her with his thigh and trying to hold her at arm's length. "_Kate_," he pleaded hoarsely. Her breathing was ragged and desperate, and she seemed to be operating on autopilot, not even knowing who she was fighting. She simply wanted out, if only to prove that she wouldn't be locked in. She came at him again, going for his face this time, raising her elbow. He caught her arm just before it made contact with his cheek and spun her around, pinning her wrists behind her. Crushing her tightly against him, he sank to the floor, breathing hard into her hair.

Her struggles became weaker. She leaned back against him, giving it one last chance. "You can come with me," she offered in a tired, sad voice.

Sawyer laughed harshly into her neck, still holding her against him, his arms wrapped around her from behind. The words made no sense, but they seemed funny at the moment. He felt dangerously near tears. It was better to laugh than to cry.

When her head sagged over onto her shoulder, he knew that she was finally out again. He kept holding her for a while, not willing to take her back to the bed quite yet.

He suddenly wondered, with terror, how much of his _own _father he had in him. Was his violence only to protect her? Or was it instead just a reaction to the idea that she might leave him? He'd let himself get too damn close to her. If this is what he was capable of _now_, then what would it be like later? What if next time she tried to leave, she _wasn't _out of her mind? Would he let her go? With a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, he realized that he didn't know the answer.

Instead of tormenting himself about it now, he pulled her closer, rocking her back and forth on the floor of the dark room.


	17. Chapter 17

This chapter seems really long for some reason - I'm not sure if it's the longest or not. There's a lot of weird symbolism in it, but I promise all the chapters to come won't feel so weird. ;) Thanks so much for reviewing!

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

Struggling up out of the depths of sleep was like emerging from underwater. Kate could see the surface, and she kicked toward it, desperately, trying to open her eyes. There was a dull, thudding ache in her head, and her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. When she moved under the covers, she noticed that her body was sticky and damp, as if she'd been sweating. The room was black, and she couldn't remember exactly where she was. She rolled onto her side, feeling for Sawyer's arm out of habit, but the other half of the bed was empty. Reaching out blindly, her hand knocked over a glass of water and a box of tissues before finally locating a lamp. She switched it on and blinked in the glare, looking around in confusion.

The room began to seem gradually more familiar, but her disorientation returned again in full force when her gaze finally fell on Sawyer. He was asleep, slumped uncomfortably in a chair, up against the door that led outside. He seemed to be stationed there, barricading the entrance. The sight tickled at something recent in her memory, but the specifics remained out of reach, too vague for her to grasp. Something had happened here; something bad... but what?

Crawling off the bed and steadying herself against a momentary dizziness, she approached Sawyer.

"Hey," she whispered, touching his shoulder. "You awake?"

His head jerked, and then he cringed as if something hurt. He pulled himself upright in the chair, bringing his hand to his neck to support it. Finally, he peered up at Kate.

"What are you doing over here?" she asked him carefully. "Why aren't you in bed?"

He waited a second, and she noticed he was watching her closely, trying to figure something out. She felt a stab of worry. He looked too serious.

"What happened? Was somebody here? I don't remember hearing any..."

"No," he cut her off. "Wasn't nobody here."

"Then why are you sleeping in front of the door?" she asked, trying to force a smile.

He didn't answer at first. He seemed to be thinking of the right thing to say, and she wondered what he was trying to avoid. "You don't remember anything? From earlier?" he asked her.

The fuzzy sense that something had happened still nagged at her, but the harder she tried to pinpoint it, the further it receded. It was simply an emotional aftertaste, a sense in her gut that some kind of scene had taken place. The last complete image she retained in her memory was kneeling in the window seat, her fingers working at loosening his tie. Then, after that, a great drowsy blackness engulfing her. Nothing more.

She kneeled down in front of him, feeling weak all of a sudden. "Did I have a nightmare?" she asked in a tense voice.

He stared at her, hesitant.

"I did, didn't I? I told you those sleeping pills would make it worse." She paused, frustrated. "I can't even remember what it was about."

"Yeah, well... Probably best that way," he muttered. He vigorously rubbed his hands over his face as if still trying to wake up.

Kate was bothered by his evasive tone. "What did I say?"

Sawyer sighed, as if debating whether or not to go into it. "Nothin' that made any sense." He looked at her, and she was slightly taken aback by the chill she felt in his gaze. "I shoulda listened to you about the pills. Already flushed the rest down the john, so at least we won't make the same mistake twice."

When he turned away, his face was sad, and she wanted badly to understand why. But another part of her was afraid to find out, and almost thankful that she couldn't remember the cause. What the hell had _happened _here?

"I'm sorry," she said, quietly, with a puzzled wrinkle of her forehead. She tried to get him to look at her, but he wouldn't quite meet her eyes.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Wasn't your fault." Then he looked over at the clock for a distraction. "It's already past six, so we better head out in a few hours, if you still want to drive through the night."

But her attention was caught by something else. "What _is _this?" she said, grabbing his wrist in alarm, tracing the fingernail-shaped puncture marks and the dried blood. "What happened to your hand?"

He yanked it away from her, obscuring the wounds. "Guess I musta done it in my sleep, scratchin'."

Kate stared at him as if she didn't believe him, but he didn't offer any other explanation. "You must have been really going at it, to make it bleed like that," she said tersely.

"Yeah," he said, standing up. "Dry skin's a bitch." His trademark sarcastic smirk was filled with much more malice than she was accustomed to, and she couldn't understand why it scared her.

"I'll get the first-aid stuff," she offered as she rose to her feet again.

"Don't bother. I'll take care of it," he said, moving past her. She turned to watch him, folding her arms around herself. Now that she was out of bed, she felt cold.

Sawyer picked up his longest, heaviest coat - what Kate usually referred to, jokingly, as his "Old West" coat. "You bring a needle and thread when we left, by any chance?"

She thought for a second, not ready to change the subject but seeing no other way around it. "There should be one in that travel kit we got for camping."

"You know how to use it?"

"Depends on what you want me to do." She took a step closer to him, confused.

"I want you to slit the lining of this thing open, and get as much of the money in it as you can. Then sew it back up. Think you can handle that?"

She stared at him, stung by his peremptory tone. "Sounds simple enough. What about mine?"

"What about your _what_?"

"My _coat_. It seems like it might be better if we don't put all the cash in one place."

He glanced around the room and gave a dismissive, silent laugh. "No offense, sugar, but I got a hunch tells me maybe that ain't the best _idea_. Seein' as how your track record with money leaves a little something to be desired."

She closed her eyes, feeling her face heat up slightly with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "I _just meant... _as a precaution. In case anything happens to your coat, or we get separated, somehow."

Now his expression darkened a little, and he tilted his head back with a hard, distrustful look. "What makes you think we'll get _separated_?"

"I _don't_," she said emphatically. She waited a beat. "But things have a way of happening. I'm just saying, it's better to be prepared."

"Well, thanks a heap for the advice. But if it's all the same to you, I think I'll just stick to the original plan." With this, he tossed her the coat.

She reached out and caught it, irritated. "Fine."

He dug the travel kit out of the bottom of one of the duffel bags for her and dropped it on the bed. "You need scissors?"

She answered quietly, studying his face, mystified by his attitude. "They should already be in there."

"Then sounds like you're all set. Just do me a favor and try not to tear the damn thing apart, okay?"

Swallowing hard, she waited a second. When she spoke it was barely above a whisper. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Like _what_?" Sawyer looked over at her, pissed. Then he lowered his eyes and she thought she detected the slightest bit of shame there, or maybe regret. But his voice was still harsh when he continued. "Don't know what to tell you, Freckles... Guess I just woke up on the wrong side of the _chair_."

"Funny," Kate said in a flat voice, but not as if she actually found it funny.

Sighing heavily, he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Look," he said. "I got a crick in my neck that's about to kill me... Feels like a monster truck's been drivin' over it for about an hour. So it's nothin' personal, all right?"

Although she knew this wasn't the whole story, or anything even approaching it, she decided not to press for the truth right now. "You want me to rub it for you?" she asked, already beginning to go toward him.

"No," he said quickly, rising from the bed again, moving out of her reach the way you would avoid someone with a contagious disease. "Way you massage, you'd probably just make it worse. I gotta go out for awhile anyway," he added, pulling his shoes on, avoiding her eyes. "Think you'll be ready to leave by about eight or so?"

"Yeah," she said in a sad voice. She refused to ask him where he was going. If he didn't feel like telling her, then she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of her curiosity.

"I'll bring back some food."

He headed for the door, and she spoke before she could stop herself, not even knowing what she planned to say.

"Sawyer."

She heard the pleading tone in her voice and hated it.

He turned to look at her, and there was a wounded vulnerability in his expression that she could tell he was trying to mask. In fact, this whole charade of being in a bad mood now revealed itself to her in a new light. For whatever reason, she began to suspect he was trying to push her away emotionally, to put distance between them. It was as if he'd suddenly decided that things had gone too far. The idea was horrible to her in all its potential consequences. It pained her not only for herself, but also because of the misery she could see it was causing him.

Waiting for her to finish what she'd been about to say, he stood there in silence.

"Be careful," she said softly, unable to think of anything else. Inadvertently, she found herself resting her hand on her stomach again, and she forced herself to drop it back down to her side. She had to quit doing that.

With only a slight nod of acknowledgement, Sawyer went out. Kate fought back tears that threatened to well up, angry at herself. _Damn him _for making her feel like this. It galled her to know that just a few months ago, this kind of treatment would have inspired in her only amused toleration, or at most impatient annoyance. She'd prided herself on her aloofness, on her ability to keep the upper hand in their relationship. The fact that he could now hurt her so badly with only the tone of his voice, or the malevolence in his glance - it was terrifying. When had she become the kind of woman who was affected by things like that, and why hadn't she noticed it? The timing couldn't be worse. Particularly now, _here_, in this godforsaken place so close to where her life had been destroyed, she felt like she needed him more than ever. She needed his emotional support, she needed his attempts to distract her, she craved his physical nearness... He hadn't even _touched _her before he left, she realized with a kind of sickening apprehension. What could have possibly happened to cause him to treat her this way?

She remained standing in the middle of the room, not moving, for at least a full minute after he'd gone. Then she looked thoughtfully down at the coat she was holding and went to get the scissors.

* * *

They were quiet as they drove, not speaking much to each other.

Kate hadn't entirely finished the job of stashing the money by the time Sawyer wanted to leave, so she continued to sew up the openings as they traveled, using the faint light that she switched on in the visor above her. The jolting of the truck and the lack of visibility made the job difficult, so she leaned over the coat, almost doubled up, peering at the fabric as she held it close to her face. She lifted her arm, pulling the thread through and then darting the needle under the fabric and lifting again. While she worked, she noticed that Sawyer kept casting her sideways glances, as if he couldn't help himself. She allowed this to pass unnoticed for a time, but her curiosity finally overcame her.

"What?" she said, with a questioning smile.

He didn't answer for a second, keeping his eyes on the road. Then he said in a grudgingly amused tone of voice, "You look like a pioneer woman. Makes me feel like I oughtta stop to water the oxen."

She laughed a little. "You're the one who told me to do this."

"Guess I didn't realize you were so _domestic_."

"Hey, I know some stuff," she said defensively. Then she admitted, "Not _much_, but some. Of course, cooking isn't part of that list, as you'll recall."

"Tell you the truth, after all this fast food, I'm kinda startin' to miss your cooking. What I wouldn't give for a nice big bowl of that green crap right about now."

She tried to hide how pleased this made her. Although he still sounded peevish, it was a relief to hear a compliment in any form. "Thanks," she said. Glancing in the rearview mirror, a troubled look passed across her face. "Seems like that car's been following us forever, doesn't it?"

"Maybe they're tryin' to get the hell out of this state, too," he muttered.

"Maybe," she agreed, not sounding convinced. She kept checking the mirror as she sewed. "There.. they're turning," she breathed in relief. Sawyer attempted to look quickly through the back glass, but he winced in pain.

"How's your neck?" Kate asked.

"Not much better." After a minute, he shook his head. "I'm just getting tired of this goddamn routine... goin' from room to room, driving for eight hours at a stretch, always lookin' over our shoulders... It's been three weeks, and we ain't even out of the midwest yet. I'm sick of livin' like this," he finished in a harsh, irritable voice.

His words felt like a judgment, and they revived her earlier fears about the future. She'd grown so used to depending on Sawyer that she'd been ignoring the fact that maybe he wasn't actually _dependable_. She truly believed that he loved her, at least more than he'd ever loved anybody else. But what if these last few months were just some kind of fluke, a brief interval in which he flirted with the possibility of loyalty and commitment, but then rejected these in favor of his habitual mode of life? Would it really be all that surprising? And what the hell would she do if that was the case - especially now, when they'd gotten themselves into such a mess? She began to wonder if she'd said something during her nightmare to scare him away, something clingy and needy, related to their new, unexpected situation. Had she made him feel trapped, or cornered? She hated to think so, but then why else would he be reacting this way? It was like he wanted to push her away, to let her know that she couldn't take him for granted.

The silence stretched out. She finally spoke, in a low, sad voice. "Nobody's forcing you to." She turned her head to the window, feigning indifference.

Sawyer sighed heavily. When he answered, his tone was weary, almost apologetic. "I'm just sayin'... I'll be glad to finally get up there... be able to just park the damn truck and relax for awhile."

"Me too," she said softly.

"This stress isn't good for you either, you know," he went on, perhaps trying to justify his earlier outburst. "You oughtta be resting."

Kate rolled her eyes. "I'm not an _invalid_, Sawyer. Do you know anything at all about pregnancy?"

"Do _you_?"

She didn't answer. It was a valid point. "There," she said, pulling the needle through. She tied a knot and then snipped the thread at the base. "It's done. I tried to space it as evenly as I could, so it wouldn't look bulky."

"How much did you manage to get in there?"

"About eighty thousand. The rest is in my bag." She put the needle and scissors back into the travel kit and snapped it shut. "Let's just hope you don't ever fall in the water with this thing on. It weighs a ton."

"I feel safer knowin' I got it on me, though," he said. "Banks are more trouble than they're worth."

Kate wasn't listening. Her attention was distracted by something in the distance, up ahead of them. They were on the outskirts of a medium-sized factory town, and the road would pass right through the center of it. She gazed over the tops of the downtown store buildings and tall frame houses.

"You see those lights up there?"

Sawyer squinted. "Yeah. Why?"

"You know what that is?" she asked, with a faint hint of excitement in her voice. "I think it's a carnival. I can see the top of the Ferris wheel."

"That supposed to mean anything to me?"

She ignored him. "I used to go to these all the time when I was a kid. They travel from town to town... stay a few weeks at each place, and then pack up and move again."

"What kind of carnival operates in _November?_" Sawyer said with scorn.

"The _cheap _kind," she replied, casting him a smile. "You think we could stop for a minute?"

"For _what_?"

"Because they're fun!" she exclaimed. "You were just talking about how you're sick of all the stress we've been under. And don't you _dare _tell me we can't afford it."

He gave her an annoyed look. "I wasn't gonna say that. But I think you might be forgettin' we're still in Iowa, honeybunch. Aren't you even a tad worried that somebody might recognize you?"

A flicker of disappointment passed across her face as reality sank in. For a second, she'd forgotten who she was. "Yeah... I guess you're right." she said, trying to keep her voice even. She turned back to the front. "It was a stupid idea."

Sawyer was quiet. He glanced at her a few times, continuing to drive. When they neared the carnival grounds, he swung the truck into the bumpy entrance and stopped it near a fence, cutting the engine off with a vengeance.

Kate looked over at him, not understanding. "What are you doing?"

"Figured you could wear that big sweatshirt of mine... the one with the hood. Long as you keep your hair pulled back..." He paused. "It's dark out, anyway."

She smiled at him, oddly grateful for such a small gesture. "You sure?"

"We ain't stayin' long," he warned her.

She wanted to kiss him, but he got out of the truck before she could. She sighed, following him. In the back of the truck, he dug through a bag until he found the sweatshirt. Kate took it from him and pulled it over her head, smoothing out the writing on the front - _University of Tennessee._ Even though Sawyer had never been to college, or even so much as set foot on the campus, she still liked wearing this shirt. It felt like it was part of him, somehow.

"Try your coat on, moneybags," she said in a joking voice.

He tested the weight of the thing and then reluctantly slipped his arms in. It was heavy and black and hung all the way past his knees. When he had it completely on, Kate couldn't help staring at him with amusement.

"You look like you're ready for a gunfight at the saloon," she said, glancing at the ground almost shyly and then back up at him.

"_Yeah_," he said, irritated. "Put your hood up."

She did, grabbing her backpack and swinging it on. Sawyer thumped the side of the truck like it was a horse, then started to walk around the fence. She followed him. The multicolored lights of the fairgrounds were bright and flickering, and loud music blared from speakers set up in strategic areas. At random intervals, delighted screams could be heard from some of the more thrilling rides. The place had a quaint, old-fashioned feel.

"You gotta pay to get into this thing?" Sawyer asked.

"Doesn't look like it," she said, looking around her with anticipation. "I think you just pay for each ride you go on."

"We're not goin' on any _rides_," he informed her.

"Not even the bumper cars?" she asked with a smile.

He gave her a look that spoke volumes.

"You know, I used to kick ass at the bumper cars."

"Why am I not surprised?" he said under his breath.

They continued around the edge of the grounds until they reached a designated entry point, then began walking within the perimeter of the carnival, stepping over thick electrical cords on the concrete. The smells of popcorn, hot dogs, and caramel apples wafted from vending carts and booths. The place was crowded, even this late at night, and Kate wanted to take Sawyer's hand. As if to deliberately prevent this, he kept both fists jammed deep in his pockets. Although this saddened her, she pretended not to notice anything unusual.

"Hey look, they've got cotton candy!" she said, gesturing toward a boy walking by.

Sawyer made a noise of disgust.

"Let me guess... you don't like it."

"Sure I do," he said sarcastically. "What's not to like about eatin' something that tastes like pink dog hair on a stick?" He paused, possibly feeling bad. "Do you _want some?"_

"Well, as _appetizing _as you make it sound, I think I'll pass. Thanks, though," she said in a dry tone.

Kate took a deep breath, soaking in the sights and sounds. It was so rare that she got to experience anything normal like this. She marveled at how other people seemed to take it so much in stride. It was just a simple, everyday experience for them. They never had to think twice about where they were going when they stepped out their doors, or who might see them there, or whether it was safe. It was only a few years ago that she'd existed in the same carefree manner, but she couldn't even remember how it felt, to live that way. It was like something from another lifetime.

A barker at a game booth shouted out to passers-by, trying to entice them to fork over money. "Step right up, folks! Ain't nothin' to it... Simple game, dee-luxe prizes! Who wants to give it a try?" He caught sight of Kate and Sawyer and zeroed in on them, aiming his sales pitch in their specific direction. "How 'bout you, cowboy? Wouldn't the lady like to have one of these lovely items here?" He pointed to a stuffed bear. Sawyer ignored him, walking on. "Or maybe she wants a puppy instead, huh? We got all kinds of puppies here.. What do you want? We got poodles, we got..." He lifted a stuffed St. Bernard toy. "I don't even know what the hell this is. We got beagles, we got German Shepherds..." He winked at Kate, shaking the dog at her. "This the one you want, girlie? Tell him to win it for ya!" She smiled and looked away. Sawyer glanced at her, hesitating.

The man noticed him pausing and went in for the kill. "It ain't hard, sir... A three-year-old could play this game! Easiest one in the whole place.. Had an old lady walked outta here with a bag full of prizes, just two hours ago. Big guy like you, you'll win the whole damn booth in a heartbeat. Want to give it a try? Nothin' to be scared of!"

Annoyed, Sawyer glared at Kate like this was all her fault, and then stepped up to the booth. "How much?"

"Three bucks for five chances," the man intoned. "Five for ten."

"_Three bucks_?" Sawyer said incredulously. Shaking his head, he slapped the bills onto the counter. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

The barker passed him a basketball. "Just put it in the basket... easy as that."

Exhaling heavily, he aimed the ball at the basket behind the man's head and shot. It bounced off the backboard. "No worries, still four more chances," the man assured him, retrieving the ball. "Your girl's rootin' for ya."

The second shot circled the rim and then went off one side. The next two did the same. Sawyer had an air of grieved concentration on his face. Kate bit her lip, trying not to laugh. The fifth throw was wild, sailing over the back of the board. "_Damn it_," he said with his jaw clenched.

"You know," the barker said, leaning confidentially onto the counter with one elbow. "I get the feeling you're the kinda guy who just needs a little warm-up. I think you've really hit your stride now. One more round, and you got it.. easy as pie. I'd bet my life on it. Then the girl gets her puppy, and everyone's happy."

Sawyer looked like he wanted to clock the guy, but he angrily plunked down three more dollars. "Give me the ball."

"Now you're talkin'!" the man said, tossing it to him and pocketing the money.

Although he put all his effort into it, his first three shots only hit the edge of the backboard. The fourth looked as if it would go in, but seemed to actually bounce _out _of the net. "Try not throwing it so hard," Kate offered helpfully. He turned on her a look filled with venom. She pressed her hand against her mouth, hiding a smile.

Taking her advice anyway, he used a lighter toss for the last throw, and the ball dropped in front of the rim, only skimming the bottom of the net. "Son of a _bitch!" _he growled. "Thanks a lot, Freckles."

He turned back to the barker, grabbing another fistful of money from his pocket. "Five more."

"Sawyer," she said, rolling her eyes. "That's enough. Let's just go."

He ignored her, taking the ball again. She sighed, stepping back. This was clearly not a good idea.

The barker winked at Kate. "Third time's the charm, huh, Freckles?"

"Hey, Cheech! Do me a favor and don't call her that again," Sawyer warned, getting dangerously pissed now. The man shrugged placidly, not bothered in the least.

He tried again, with the results much the same as the first two tries. Every throw came close to making it in, but didn't. He was nearly breaking a sweat, and he had the look of someone fanatically obsessed with a goal. The fifth shot bounced cleanly off the back of the rim and into his hands again, and he chucked it at the barker, who dodged out of the way. "The damn thing's rigged!" he exploded after this last failed attempt. "It's tilted just enough so nothin' goes in.. And the ball's over-inflated, so it bounces off! Whole thing's a scam!"

"Of course it's a scam," Kate said quietly, trying to ignore the people who had stopped to stare. "It's a carnival.. what did you expect?" She found it a trifle amusing that _he _of all people was complaining about getting scammed.

The barker seemed to feel some kind of need to defend the carnival's honor, although _why _would have been impossible to say. "Oh no, sir," he protested. "All the games here meet rigorous specifications by the National Gaming Board of America." He looked pleased, as if he'd just made up this name off the top of his head and liked the way it sounded. "You won't find anything rigged here. Sometimes it turns out folks just don't have the aim they thought they did - nothin' to be ashamed of. We're not all meant to be heroes. Maybe the lady here would like to give it a try for herself..."

These last words were cut off as Sawyer grabbed his collar and lifted him halfway over the booth's counter. He had the murderous scowl on his face that Kate recognized all too well from the times he'd been involved in fights. "You want to see just how good my aim is, son?" he threatened in a low voice.

Kate quickly stepped up to them. "Sawyer!" she demanded, tugging on his arm. "Stop it!"

"Hey, pal, I don't make the games, I just run the booth!" the barker protested in a choked voice, sounding flustered.

"Sawyer, let go of him, _now_," Kate said through gritted teeth. "You're drawing a crowd."

Glancing at her, he shoved the guy backwards, and then shook Kate's hand off his arm, pushing through the gawkers. A few women gave Kate sympathetic looks. She closed her eyes briefly, embarrassed, and then went after him. The barker immediately began to take advantage of the spectacle, and as she walked away, she heard his voice fading into the distance. "All right folks, step right up! Who wants to give it a try? Easiest thing in the world!"

"Hey," she said, catching up to Sawyer. "What the hell was that about? It's just a stupid game."

He kept walking, not answering her.

"You know, I don't even _like _stuffed animals," she said with a faint smile, trying to make light of the situation. "Never did."

He stopped in front of a building. It was a funhouse, and painted on the side of it was a giant, laughing clown. Its gaping mouth formed the entrance.

"You want to go in here?" Sawyer asked.

She looked at it with wary distaste. "Not really. Do you?"

"Yeah," he said, almost as if for argument's sake. "You can wait out here if you want." He started toward it.

She sighed and followed. "I'll go with you."

Near the steps leading up to the entrance, a pale girl dressed in black sat smoking a cigarette, her foot propped on the rail. "Four tickets," she said in a bored voice, barely looking at them.

"Tickets?" Sawyer said.

"Two each. That's the admission. Have to buy 'em up front, at the gate."

He pulled a bill out of his wallet and held it in front of her. "Here's a twenty."

She blew a puff of smoke and stared at the cash, then calmly reached out to take it. "Enjoy the funhouse."

Kate was surprised that he would waste so much money on something she knew he had no interest in to begin with. Was he simply doing this as a distraction? Or was he getting some kind of dark pleasure out of making her go inside here when he knew she wasn't really comfortable with it? It was like he was trying to punish her on a level he was barely even aware of.

Just inside the entrance, an arrow directed them to keep to the right. A sign at the end of the sloping hall announced the Mirror Maze, and they entered it, tentatively. It was immediately disorienting, and after just a few steps, the entrance was already lost behind them. Sawyer banged his knee into one of the mirrors, thinking the path continued straight ahead. Kate turned in the other direction. "I think it's this way," she said, holding her arms out in front of her so as not to make the same mistake he had.

Around the next corner, she came upon a series of distortion mirrors, the kind that make your body bulge out or shrink up in different places. She tried a few of them, amused. The one at the end of the row caused a distortion in the middle of the body. Turning to the side, she saw that it made her stomach stick out in front of her. Although the sight was mildly disturbing, considering what the coming months held for her, she tried not to be bothered by it. This was supposed to be fun, after all.

"Hey, Sawyer, come and look at this!" she called. Turning around, she checked to see how far back he was, but there was no sign of him yet.

"Sawyer! Where did you go?" There was nothing but an eerie silence. Even the faint music from the loudspeakers outside seemed to have died off. She moved away from the mirror, back in the direction she thought she'd come from, but met a solid wall of glass.

"Hey! Can you hear me?" she called again. She tried to feel her way back toward where they'd just been, but nothing seemed familiar. The path appeared to be branching off in a completely different direction. Her own image was magnified back to her a thousand times, and she tried to ignore the worried look on her face. Finally, she stopped, determined to wait for a second, calmly. Maybe he would catch up with her.

Glancing up at the mirrors again, she saw someone standing behind her, seemingly inside the glass. Her eyes traveled up the reflection, from the dirty work boots, to the soiled jeans and the wide brass belt buckle. She felt a nightmarish sense of recognition. She continued to follow the image up to a flannel shirt, and then a face. A face that she knew all too well. A face that couldn't possibly be there behind her, in the mirrors.

"Hey, girl," the apparition said, with a knowing smile.

Spinning around in terror, she slammed into the glass, and then turned blindly, not knowing where she was going. With her arms held in front of her, she plunged ahead, desperate to get out of the maze, ricocheting off the glass and bruising herself. The twisted labyrinth seemed endless. How much space was in this building? She forged ahead without even looking, breathing hard. A dizzying panic threatened to overtake her.

Suddenly, she collided with a warm, solid body. Backing away in alarm, she forced herself to look, prepared to go in the other direction.

"Where the hell have you been?" It was Sawyer. "I turn my back for one second, and you just disappear."

"Did you find the way out?" she asked, trying not to let her voice shake.

"Yeah.. it's up there," he said, looking at her strangely. "Don't you want to walk on the tilted floor thing?"

"No," she said shortly. "Let's get out of here."

He led her to the exit, and she hurried down the metal steps and kept walking, wanting to get away from the funhouse. When she couldn't see it behind her anymore, she stopped. Sawyer stood beside her. They leaned up against a fence, underneath the Ferris wheel. Kate watched it, trying to take comfort in the people around; in the sane, normal sounds of conversation and laughter. She forced her memory back, to happier times. She'd had her first kiss on a Ferris wheel, with Tom. She'd been fourteen. If this hadn't been such a screwed-up day, she might have told Sawyer about it.

Now, watching it with him, she felt isolated. It wasn't like it usually was, when the two of them shared their isolation, _together_. Tonight, she felt completely alone, cut off even from him. She wanted more than anything in the world for him to put his arm around her. But he was still holding back, avoiding contact with her for some reason. What she'd just seen in the maze couldn't have been real. It was just her imagination. Still, she would have given anything for his reassurance. But for the first time since they'd become intimate, she couldn't bring herself to tell him what was bothering her.

Swallowing back emotion, she said in a strained voice, "What happened this morning?"

He turned to her, knowing what she meant but pretending not to. "_What_?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Obviously something must have happened, for you to be acting this way." She looked at him, trying to force him to meet her eyes. "What did I _say _to you, Sawyer? Please tell me what I said!"

He was quiet. It looked like he might answer, but the silence stretched out.

"Whatever it was, _I'm sorry_," she said quietly, brushing a tear away with her sleeve. "If it makes you feel any better, I probably didn't mean it."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," he muttered. He looked up at the Ferris wheel, distant and evasive.

She shook her head, trying to make sense of what he was saying. For God's sake, why wouldn't he just _tell her_?

In the midst of this painful conversation, a small voice suddenly came from near the ground.

"Daddy?"

They both looked down, mystified. There was a little girl, maybe three or four years old, tugging on the bottom of Sawyer's coat. She tilted her head back, looking up at him. In one hand she clutched a stuffed puppy like the one Sawyer had tried in vain to win for Kate. The two of them stared at her for a few drawn-out seconds, uncomprehending. Where had she _come _from?

"Amy!" A man's voice called from a few feet away. "Over here, babe!"

The little girl turned, confused, but then seemed to realize her mistake. The man who called her was in his thirties, with shoulder-length dark blonde hair, wearing a long coat like Sawyer's. There was a surface resemblance between the two men. "Sorry," she said, running to her father. He scooped her up and raised a hand toward them, apologizing. Kate nodded at him in response, composing her features.

Sawyer watched as the girl was carried away, a tortured, longing expression on his face. "Stupid goddamn kid," he said fiercely, turning back to Kate.

She looked at him, sadly. "She was just a little girl. It was an honest mistake."

He stared at her, not answering. She thought she saw hatred in his eyes, and it was absolutely bewildering to her.

Without saying anything in response, he started back towards the truck. "Let's go," he muttered.

She remained standing where she was for a few seconds, wondering if she would ever be able to understand him again. Then she turned away from the Ferris wheel and followed. This had been a disaster. What was supposed to have been a romantic evening had just been strained and creepy. She was tired and ready to get back into the truck.

Catching up with him on the outskirts of the grounds, they walked next to each other back toward the parking lot. Kate watched her feet, keeping an eye out for the thick electrical cords that crossed the path. She was startled by Sawyer's sudden halt, and then his hard grip on her wrist, dragging her quickly behind a ticket booth.

"What?" she hissed. Peering around the structure, she saw two men standing outside their truck. One shone a flashlight into the cab, while the other seemed to be going through one of the cases in the back. She felt a sickening jolt in her heart. Sawyer leaned around her, watching them for a few seconds. When the man in the front raised his head up, glancing around, he pulled her back behind the booth. They flattened themselves on the side of it, tense and frightened.

"Who are they?" she whispered. "They don't look like cops."

Sawyer waited, miserable, not meeting her eyes. She could tell he had more information than she did. "They're FBI. Same agents who were at the house, the day we left. I'd recognize the sons-of-bitches anywhere." He sounded bitter.

Kate turned pale, and her face hardened with the unavoidable realization of what was happening. She swallowed, backing up a few steps, looking hunted. Her eyes darted to Sawyer's. He put a hand out, as if to stop her, but she ignored it.

"This way," she said in a hoarse whisper. Without another word, she turned and started to run.

The bright carnival lights whirled by her in a kaleidoscopic blur. She moved back through the grounds and toward the exit, going in the opposite direction of the parking lot. She could vaguely sense Sawyer behind her, struggling to keep up, but she didn't turn around. She felt like she'd been following him all evening. Let him see what it was like.

It was darker outside the fairgrounds, and quieter. She could hear her feet pounding on the pavement, and Sawyer's behind her. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Ducking into an alley, she cut across to another street. This was a residential area, and the houses were old and dilapidated. She flew past trashed backyards and detached garages that had once been carriage houses, moving from one alley to another. Her hood fell back and her hair whipped around her, unheeded. The backpack felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, and she considered dropping it, but the few things in it were all she had left now. Plus, it contained the rest of the money. She transferred it to her other shoulder and dodged around a cluster of metal trash cans, her knees weak and rubbery.

"Wait up!" Sawyer called out behind her. She didn't slow down. She couldn't have, even if she'd wanted to. The fear was too great. It was like a fire at her heels, urging her forward.

Past a row of houses, she continued on, out where the streetlights ended. She hopped a culvert and pulled herself up on the other side with shaky arms. Her lungs were burning with the exertion. Running across an empty lot filled with gravel, she dragged herself under a barbed wire fence at the edge of it. There was a steep, rocky hill here, and she skidded down it, her legs flying out from under her. She slid part of the way on her thigh, ignoring the pain. Her fingernails dug into the ground in an effort to slow her descent.

"Kate!" Sawyer shouted from above her, out of breath. She knew the coat was weighing him down, and that he couldn't hope to keep up with her in it. But she couldn't slacken her pace. Not yet.

Ahead of her was a level plain, filled with stacks of metal pipes and tubes. Just past it, railroad tracks crisscrossed the ground. It was a freight yard. She headed toward it, ducking behind a pile of sheet metal to check for anyone around. There were men in jackets standing around an engine that was puffing smoke at the front of a long line of boxcars, but nobody else. She moved in the direction of the tracks.

With her knees shaking and threatening to give out underneath her, she crossed in between two cars to the other side of the train, and then began moving down the row, trying doors, taking deep gulps of the cold air as her breath streamed out white in front of her. After a few seconds, she heard the crunch of gravel behind her and turned, ready for a fight. It was Sawyer, looking pissed off and exhausted. "Holy _shit_, sweetheart," he panted. "You tryin' to lose me?"

"Help me find one that's open," she said, breathing hard. "It's getting ready to pull out."

He glanced at the train, confused, as if he hadn't noticed where he was until now. Kate continued down the row, and he watched her for a second. Then he moved up ahead of her, unable to do more than jog in his weakness. He grasped the cold metal doors, one after another, testing them.

"Here!" she heard him call out. Making her way to where he was standing, she grabbed the door's edge and they both rolled it back a few feet, revealing a dark, gaping hole. It looked like there were sacks of grain stacked inside on one end.

"You sure about this?" he asked her, concerned.

She nodded, peering into the boxcar anxiously. "We can't go back to the truck again. Ever."

"I know that," he said. With a groan of exertion, he hoisted himself up onto the edge of the platform and reached down for her. She clasped his hand, and he pulled her up. Rolling the door closed again, she left only a tiny crack, a sliver of orange from the glow of the freight yard. It was just enough to see each other by. There was a faint vibration under their feet that indicated the engine was getting ready to leave the station. They stood by the door, facing each other.

"Where the hell is this thing going?" Sawyer asked her, wearily.

"I don't know," she answered. "Away from here. That's all that matters."

They were quiet for a few seconds. The mournful, musical blare of the train's horn drifted back to them. It was like the sound of someone crying.

Kate dropped her backpack with a thud, trying to hold back her own tears. "What the hell were we thinking, stopping there? They must have been following us all night. If we'd been just a few minutes earlier... Or even a few minutes _later_," she said in a horrified tone. "That would have been it. I'd have already been taken into custody." Her voice threatened to crack. Although she should have been overheated by the panic-driven run, she now felt herself convulsed by shivering that racked her entire frame. "It was so _close_."

Sawyer watched her in the dim light. She saw something break in his expression. A barrier gave way, and the walls crumbled down around him. His face was dark and hurting, but not just for himself now. He couldn't keep it up any longer. While she waited, miserably, he finally held out his arms to her.

She gratefully pressed herself into his body, breathing in his scent. He pulled her tightly against him and wrapped his unbuttoned coat around her as if to shelter her from something, leaning his head against hers. All the pain and misunderstanding from earlier in the day evaporated. It suddenly ceased to mean anything at all. They held each other with all the strength they had left.

With a rattling lurch forward and a shrieking of wheels on metal, the train began to move.


	18. Chapter 18

I thought I maybe should clear up something about the last chapter, since some people seemed to be confused by it. The little girl who approached Sawyer at the carnival was basically just a device to bring out their feelings. Sawyer saw her as the potential child he fears he'll never have, since he thinks Kate will take that possibility away from them. That was why he responded so emotionally. Kate was confused by his reaction, not knowing what to make of it, but worried all the same. So, the girl wasn't important in herself, but just for what she represented. Hope that makes sense. lol

Okay, a word about this chapter. I think it's really strange (and maybe unfortunate) how this has worked out, in terms of the show. It's just a complete coincidence, because I've had this storyline planned out since about June, so it's not like I'm being influenced by Lost. I just hope it doesn't feel like oversaturation, especially after this coming week's ep. (You'll understand what I mean when you get closer to the end of this chapter.) But my focus will be entirely different, so it shouldn't feel too similar.

Thanks so much for reviewing, and for keeping the pressure on me to write! If you didn't, there's no way I'd get any of this done. I'm naturally VERY lazy. ;)

* * *

**Chapter 18**

"Would you shut the damn window and come back to bed?" Sawyer muttered irritably, wincing without opening his eyes. "And turn the TV off while you're at it."

There was no answer, and the cold air continued to blow over him. The rolling, rhythmic clacking that he'd assumed was coming from the television persisted and began to form itself into a familiar pattern. He felt the rough burlap of a grain sack under his cheek and consciousness returned to him with the recognition that they were still in the train car, and not in his bedroom at the house in Tennessee, like he'd been dreaming. He had a strange, momentary sense of having lost something. It was funny. He hadn't thought about the house in weeks, or experienced much regret at all upon leaving it, but now he would have given anything to wake up in his own bed, with Kate next to him. Compared to their lives now, things there had been so _simple_.

He looked around to locate her, his now-automatic first reaction upon waking. She was, as he'd expected, sitting on the edge of the boxcar platform, her legs crossed under her, her back slightly slouched. She'd rolled the door back and was now gazing out into the night, seemingly oblivious to the cold air rushing over her.

Sighing, Sawyer dragged himself onto one elbow and then unsteadily to his feet, approaching her.

She jumped when he put his hands on her shoulders. "Hey," she said, half-turning. "I didn't hear you."

"Little drafty in here, ain't it, Freckles?" he asked, trying not to sound too annoyed.

"Sorry," she said. "I needed some air."

"And here I thought _sleep _was what we needed," he groaned, settling down next to her. He rolled the door open a little further to make room.

She glanced at him, skeptically. "We slept all day. Remember?"

"_You _slept all day," he pointed out. "I was in a straight-backed chair up against the door. Wasn't exactly the most _restful _doze I ever had."

Kate seemed to consider bringing up the subject of exactly _why _he'd been sleeping in the chair again, but apparently decided against it. Maybe she was accepting the possibility of never knowing. She looked back out at the dark fields rolling past them, marked at wide intervals by the lights of isolated farmhouses.

"Look at the size of some of these farms," she marveled in a low voice. "Only one family to every thousand acres or so." She paused. "It must be lonely."

Sawyer didn't answer. He wasn't in the mood to worry about other people's problems. Nobody else gave a shit about _theirs_, after all, so what was the point of making the effort?

"Wonder where we'll end up," he finally said.

"We're heading north," Kate replied without hesitation. "Slightly northeast, actually."

He looked at her, curious. "And how the hell do you know that?"

Biting her lip in amusement, she pointed her finger upward, gesturing toward the sky, like it was obvious. "The stars."

Sawyer snorted dismissively, feeling like an idiot. "Forgot I was dealin' with an _expert_," he said with sarcasm. "Any chance you might be able to pick up the scent of a Burger King usin' the wind velocity?"

Kate closed her eyes wearily.

"So," he said after a few seconds. "What made you think of the freight depot? I get the feeling this ain't the first time you've traveled hobo-style."

She smiled a little, secretively. "Well, you have to admit, it's not a bad way to see the country. Plus, it's free. I _know _you must like that part."

"It's so rare you get to hear about the _benefits _of bein' a fugitive on the run," he said in a funny drawl. Kate laughed, nodding.

They were quiet for a minute, staring out at the black, empty night. The steady clacking of the train was loud, but somehow soothing. Sawyer felt a kind of peace in Kate's presence that had been missing for the last couple of days. It was so easy to just sit with her, without the absolute necessity of words. With all the drama of the pregnancy, he'd almost forgotten the simple fact that she was still his best friend. No matter what happened, at least _that _part wouldn't change, would it? He honestly wasn't sure anymore.

"I'm really sorry," she said in a soft voice. Glancing at him thoughtfully, she added, "About your truck."

He made a gesture of contempt. "Just a hunk of metal on four wheels. Don't mean anything."

"It _did _mean something. To you," she insisted.

"Not as much as you think it did," he said with a reassuring half-smile. "Forget about it. It's not important."

She gave him a grateful look, but not as if she completely believed him. Reluctantly, she turned away, leaning against the boxcar's door frame.

She was right, in a way. It _had _meant something to him. It was one of the few possessions that connected him to his pre-Sawyer past, to the days when he'd still been just James, a confused and angry but still basically innocent teenager. The further he sank into his life of crime, the more the truck had begun to show signs of mechanical malfunction, until one day, when he'd made forty grand taking subscriptions to rebuild a non-existent Holocaust memorial, it had finally broken down completely. It was ridiculous, but he'd always had a sense that the damn thing was _judging _him. His years spent tinkering with it, trying half-heartedly to get it running again, had always seemed beside the point. He knew it wouldn't ever run again. Until the night when Kate took off on foot, and he'd been desperate to find a way to go after her. Then, against all logic, it _had _run again. He still didn't know how it had happened. But oddly enough, he didn't care anymore. He had the only thing that mattered to him. The truck was a small price to pay for Kate's safety. Maybe someday he'd buy another one like it.

After a few seconds, Sawyer said in a playfully contemplative tone, "If you want to know the truth, there's only one thing I regret about losin' the truck." He looked over at Kate. "And I bet if you think real hard you can figure out what that is."

She didn't turn toward him, but he could detect a faint smile from her profile. "Let me guess," she began slowly. "Could it be the fact that we never had sex in the back of it?"

"Told you we should have gone for it that night at the camp. Had the sleeping bags out and everything."

Kate sighed. "I thought it would rain. And I figured we'd have other chances, later."

"Yeah," Sawyer muttered, defeated. "Guess we waited too long, huh?"

She was quiet, twisting her hair in her fingers absent-mindedly. Sawyer felt his hands turning numb and icy in the cold. Why the hell were they sitting over here, exposed to the wind?

"Hey," Kate said, turning toward him. He thought he detected an air of mischief in her expression. "Just out of curiosity..." She paused. "You ever done it on a train?"

His icy fingers were immediately forgotten. Tilting his head back against the edge of the door, he narrowed his eyes as if intrigued. "Good question. Hang on a sec... Let me ponder on it."

Kate bit her lip in amused anticipation, watching him. "Well?" she asked after a lapse.

"I'm _thinking_," he said defensively. "Do subways count?"

"Sawyer!" She looked disgusted.

He grinned at her. "Then I'm gonna have to say no. You?" He watched her with interest.

Shrugging, she said, "I always traveled alone."

"Well now... That ain't exactly answerin' the question, is it?"

She rolled her eyes. "The answer is no. I never have. Not even _alone_," she added, blushing a little. Sawyer tried not to laugh.

"Hm," he said in a non-committal tone, looking up at the stars with raised eyebrows. "Interesting."

They watched the landscape pass by, not speaking. The time stretched out, the silence seeming to grow weighty and loud. All the earlier peacefulness was gone. An electric tension hung between them, which neither would acknowledge. After a minute, they both looked toward one another at the same time. Kate's heart already beat faster with excitement, and Sawyer could tell this was the case by the way she breathed. His lips curled upward just enough to flash his dimples, a smile of triumph.

"Get over here," he said in a low, husky voice.

She didn't waste time. Raising herself to her knees, she moved toward him and practically fell onto his lips. They kissed with unchecked passion for a few seconds, writhing against each other even through their thick winter clothes. The car was filled with the sound of labored breathing. Then Sawyer reached up and caught Kate's head between his palms, forcing her to hold still in one kiss that slowed and then froze into motionlessness. They kept their lips together, not moving, drawing the moment out. They'd been so emotionally distant all day that they both now felt a renewed need for closeness. When this lingering kiss finally ended, they kept their foreheads balanced lightly together, eyes closed.

Kate smiled, catching her breath. "Let's go back over there," she whispered, meaning their earlier bed on the grain sacks.

Sawyer hoisted himself up and started to roll the heavy metal door closed against the night, but she stopped him, putting her hand on his arm. "Leave it open," she said.

He looked at her like she was crazy. "It's _freezing_."

She bit her lip, excited. "We'll get warm in a minute."

He tilted his head back, intrigued but also amused. She never failed to surprise him. But if she wanted to have sex in a bitterly cold wind, who was he to argue? The key word here was _sex_, right? Everything else was irrelevant.

Flopping down onto their makeshift bed, he pulled her after him, beginning to kiss her again. They broke apart to allow their lips to travel over each other's necks, cheeks, and ears. Sawyer shrugged off his money-heavy coat but decided to leave his shirt on. Kate disagreed with this unspoken decision, and worked at getting if off of him, finally succeeding. The wind hit his bare skin and raised chills while she kissed along his collarbone. To retaliate, he worked his cold hands up under her sweatshirt, feeling how her skin naturally shrank away from his icy touch. Undaunted, he continued and slid his fingers under her bra as she gasped against his neck. He kneaded her, a little roughly, until she finally began to press toward him rather than away from him.

Her hands when she got rid of his pants and drew him out of his boxers were just as frozen as his were, and he gritted his teeth at the sensation for a second, but strangely enough, he felt himself responding to it. She stroked and kissed until he was no longer aware of the cold. He drew her up toward him again, unfastening her jeans and sliding his hand below the waistband, grinning knowingly as he finally discovered a warm spot. She shuddered a little, and he lingered a minute, enjoying the heat before finally tugging her jeans from her.

He dragged himself up onto a stack of grain-filled sacks, about the level of a chair, pulling Kate down toward him so that they faced each other. She lowered herself onto him slowly, shivering a bit in the rushing air from the open door. They took their time, at first rocking only slightly against each other, hardly moving at all. The rhythmic sound and motion of the train urged them to match it, though, and they finally began to keep pace. Past Kate's head, Sawyer could see the lonely, dimly lit farms of the countryside sliding by as he pushed up into her. It was a strange and somehow thrilling sensation, being carried through the night while doing this, past unsuspecting farmers and their sleeping wives. Both of them were now covered with beads of sweat, and the cold wind began to feel refreshing, welcoming even. Sawyer could feel the blood rushing to his fingertips, warming up his hands as he gripped her hips hard.

Their rhythm increased frantically until he began to see colored spots dancing in his vision, and his eyes closed involuntarily as he groaned and arched upward. Kate, grinding against him, took advantage of the isolation and noise of the train to cry out much more sharply and unrestrainedly than she normally did, which for some reason prolonged both their pleasure. She finally dropped against him, and he leaned back against the stacked piles, supporting their weight. Their panting tapered off, and Kate rested her head on Sawyer's sweat-dampened shoulder as all her muscles relaxed. As their bodies began to cool down, the frigid air from the open door whipped over their exposed skin with renewed bitingness. It felt like standing in a blizzard.

Sawyer breathed warmly against Kate's ear. "Can we close that damn thing now?" he whispered.

She smiled. "I'll get it."

While she rolled the metal door shut, he adjusted some of the sacks to form a kind of temporary cocoon for them to sleep in. They hastily pulled their clothes back on, then lay down, huddled against each other. Sawyer pulled his heavy coat over them, creating a dark, relatively warm space.

"Feels like it's gettin' colder," he said.

"I told you we were heading north," Kate muttered sleepily, with a note of satisfaction. "Hey," she said after a second, seriously. "Are we okay?"

He wasn't sure exactly what she was asking. He was also too afraid to ask her to elaborate. But the scene from this morning - her nightmare, or hallucination, or whatever the hell it had been... it was already starting to seem far away, tinged with an air of unreality, as if he'd dreamed it himself, instead of her. All he had to do was avoid thinking about it, and it would fade into the past and cease to exist, along with everything it had threatened. Or at least he hoped so. If he willed it, he could make himself believe that the present moment was all that mattered. Because right now, she was solidly, firmly in his arms, smelling like sweat and sex and his own cheap fabric softener. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Yeah," he said quietly. "We're good."

He could feel her relief as she burrowed closer against him. "You know what?" she said.

"What?" he asked with dread.

"We're gonna have to go shopping tomorrow. For clothes." He could hear the amusement in her voice. "All we have is what we're wearing."

"Freckles, just so we're clear, you say the word _shopping _again tonight and I'll throw you off this train," he warned.

Smiling, she kissed his cheek. "Night," she whispered.

With the rocking, rumbling vibration of the boxcar's movement over the tracks to lull them, they both went to sleep.

* * *

Kate was awakened by a shrill scraping of metal and a sudden burst of sunlight. She also realized that the train was stopped, unmoving.

Raising her head up, she blinked in the glare.

"What the hell you think you're doing in here?" a man's voice demanded, sharply.

"_Shit_," she said under her breath, nudging Sawyer. "Wake up." He groaned and reluctantly opened his eyes.

"This is a federal offense, you know that? Did you think you wouldn't get caught?" the man asked harshly. "How long you been on here?"

Kate looked at him more closely now, her eyes adjusting to the brightness. He was in his fifties, probably, going gray and getting fat. He had a cigarette hanging loosely from one lip while he glared at her, and she assumed he must be the train conductor.

Standing up, she darted her eyes nervously around for her backpack. "Just since last night," she said, trying to sound apologetic. "We won't give you any trouble... We'll leave right now."

Sawyer had pulled himself into a sitting position by this time, and he faced the man with a defiant stare.

"You got about five minutes to get outta here, and then I call the cops," the man said.

"Okay," Kate said, trying to hurry. She tugged her shoes on. Sawyer still hadn't moved.

"Get your coat," she hissed, desperately. He finally turned his glare away from the man in the doorway and slowly, without haste, began to get his things together.

Kate pulled her backpack over her shoulder, hopping down onto the gravel outside the boxcar. The man sized her up, with lust and distaste mixed together in his gaze. "What do you think this is, a homeless shelter, girlie?" he asked her, blowing smoke toward her face.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking into the car to see if Sawyer was coming yet. "You'll never see us again, I promise."

Sawyer finally emerged, sitting down on the edge of the platform and lowering himself, leisurely, onto the ground. He gave the conductor a smile of acid. Kate cringed, and as she'd expected, he couldn't resist a comment. "Sure hope you don't expect a tip, Chief. That there was about the worst damn train ride I ever had. You positive you know how to drive this thing?"

Kate grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away. He wouldn't budge.

The conductor stared from one to the other with a slowly growing contemptuous smile, and Kate recognized the look he was leveling at them. She knew Sawyer did too. For both of them, this was all too familiar, wasn't it? He eyed them as if they were worthless, as if they were rodents, as if they were less than nothing. In his mind, they weren't worth the time it would take to call the police. He could apparently sense, after only being in their presence for a moment, that they didn't belong to the same world as him. They didn't count.

"Get the hell out of my sight," he said, turning away as if bored with them.

Kate finally was able to drag Sawyer in the other direction. He couldn't resist calling back, "Might wanna let those grain sacks dry out a little! You know how us drifters are... If it's a good enough place for the rats to mate, then hell, it's good enough for us!"

The man didn't turn around, and Sawyer looked pissed at having had no effect. Kate stalked ahead of him with a burning face, down the tracks toward the end of the train. When he saw that she wasn't waiting for him, he finally hurried to catch up with her.

He followed her without speaking for awhile, knowing she was ashamed of him. "I was just messin' with the bastard," he finally attempted, in his own defense. "You see how he looked at us?"

"Yeah, I _saw_," Kate said pointedly, spinning around. Her eyes were flashing with anger. "And I'm sure you really changed his opinion by comparing us to mating _rats_!"

"It was a _joke_."

"He could have called the police, Sawyer. Why do you have to make every bad situation worse? Can't you ever just keep your mouth shut?"

He kicked irritably at a rock, not meeting her gaze. "He wouldn't have called 'em," he muttered.

Kate sighed heavily, closing her eyes for a second. When she opened them, she seemed calmer. She spoke quietly. "We have to be more careful now. They nearly caught us last night. We can't risk everything just so you can get in another snappy comeback." She took a step toward him. "_Please_," she said sincerely. "I need to know that I can count on you."

He finally looked up, meeting her eyes. He didn't answer her, but they reached an understanding without words. She nodded briefly, then looked away, relieved.

"Where the hell are we?" Sawyer asked, glancing away from the train toward a few skyscrapers and lots of densely clustered buildings that rose up before them. There was a blue, shimmering lake stretching off to one side. "Chicago?"

Kate surveyed everything, thoughtfully. "I don't think so," she said. "Not big enough." She noticed a sticker on a piece of construction machinery backed up against one of one of the freight depot buildings. Tracing it with her finger, she looked at Sawyer with raised eyebrows. "I think we're in Milwaukee."

He tilted his head with a funny air of resignation. "_Milwaukee_," he repeated, under his breath. "They got good beer, here, don't they? I could use one right about now."

Kate smiled. "How about we find a hotel first? I think you'd benefit more from a shower than a beer."

He gestured for her to lead the way, wearily. "You're the boss."

She hoisted her backpack higher on her shoulder and flipped the hood of her sweatshirt over her head, turning away from the train. They started to walk further into the city.

* * *

They tried to stick mostly to the alleys, but it was difficult to judge where they were exactly, or what kinds of buildings they were passing. Kate was too nervous to stay on the sidewalks, in full view of everyone. She'd never liked cities, even when she'd had no reason to fear them. She'd always been slightly claustrophobic, and she preferred open spaces and plenty of sky. Beaches, fields... even woods were all right, as long as they were empty of other people. But cities made her skin crawl. Once, when she was ten and Wayne had gone deer-hunting in Wyoming, her mom had scraped together enough money to take her on a four-day shopping and sightseeing trip to St. Louis, for her birthday. She'd begged to leave after only two days, even though it meant going back home to the farm. She'd had dreams that the buildings were falling on her.

Now, of course, she had immediate, pressing, _logical _reasons for wanting to avoid crowded places and the glances of passing strangers. It could, quite literally, mean life or death. She suspected that the publicity surrounding her escape had died down since the car accident back in September, but it still hadn't been long enough to ensure true safety. She knew from experience that people were sometimes shrewder than you expected them to be, and you could never count on their ignorance. To do so could be a fatal miscalculation.

It was much colder here than it had been in Iowa, and they were both miserable and longing to get inside somewhere warm. After what seemed like hours, Sawyer finally spotted what appeared to be a hotel on the opposite side of a busy street. Kate ducked her head, hiding her face as well as she could, and let him take her elbow and lead her across to the entrance.

The interior vestibule was stiflingly warm, but it felt wonderful after being outside for so long. Kate pulled her sweatshirt sleeves up from where she'd had them yanked down over her frozen hands. She pushed her hood back a little, looking toward the front desk. There was a man typing something on a computer, and a snooty blonde woman speaking into a telephone. The place looked fancy, but at least they could afford it now. Kate glanced at Sawyer, and they approached the desk.

"I'll have it taken care of immediately, Mrs. Jacobs," the blonde woman said as she smiled ingratiatingly into the phone. She hung up the receiver, turning toward the man. Her tone changed immediately, to one of bossiness. "Eric, would you go and inform that ridiculous band that they can't practice in their rooms? They're bothering everybody between the 3rd and 6th floors."

Without answering, the man addressed as Eric came out from behind the desk and trudged toward the elevators.

The woman now turned toward Kate and Sawyer, prepared with a smile but letting it languish somewhat as she sized them up, taking in Kate's sweatshirt and jeans, muddy and torn from her frenzied dash to the train the night before, as well as Sawyer's unattractive coat and tousled, dirty hair.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a clipped tone.

"All we need is a room, sweetheart," Sawyer said.

She gave him a cold smile, clearly not impressed by his attempts at flirting. "Do you have a reservation?"

"'Fraid we just got into town," he replied, with a smirk.

"Let me see what we have," the woman said, giving up the pretence of interest. She made a show of checking the computer, tapping at the keys officiously, and Kate wondered if she was actually doing anything at all. She already had the weary feeling that this encounter was going to come to nothing. They wouldn't be allowed to stay here. It mattered not at all that they had almost a hundred thousand dollars on them. It wasn't about money. She knew how they must look right now. And not only their clothes, but their very demeanor was probably giving off an air of defeat, of being overcome by forces beyond their control. It would be the easiest thing in the world to turn them away, and they had no means to resist.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, turning back to them. "But we don't have anything available right now. You should have made a reservation."

Kate could see Sawyer's anger gearing up, could see him getting prepared for the requisite outburst, and she touched his arm. He turned to her, and they stared at each other.

"Let's just go," she said quietly. "We'll find somewhere else."

With a supreme effort, he gave in. Casting one more hate-filled glance at the woman behind the desk, he started toward the door.

Suddenly, Kate halted, gripping his arm harder, swaying a little. He felt a shudder pass through her and she drew her breath in sharply.

"What?" he asked, immediately concerned.

She closed her eyes, fighting dizziness. "I just..." She swallowed. "I'm okay. I think it's just because we haven't eaten yet today."

He kept watching her, scared. Guiding her over to a lobby area with chairs and sofas, he made her sit down, and then lowered himself beside her. She took a deep breath, leaning back against the cushion.

"I got an idea," Sawyer said, feeling guilty. "Why don't you wait here while I go find some other place to stay? I'll come back for you when I get us a room."

She shook her head, not even considering it. "No. I'm coming with you."

He sighed. "Then at least let me bring you somethin' to eat."

She started to answer, but then glanced up over his head. The blonde woman was approaching them.

"I'm sorry," she said. "But this area is reserved for hotel guests only. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"We're just resting for a minute," Kate said, trying to stay calm.

"I'm afraid you'll have to rest outside. If you don't leave now, I'll be forced to call security."

"_Look_, lady," Sawyer said, standing up. "I've had about as much of your..."

"Kate?" He was interrupted by an excited voice from across the lobby.

They both glanced around, bewildered. From the direction of the elevators, with a guitar slung over his shoulder, Charlie came toward them.

"I thought it was you!" he exclaimed, delighted. "You got my message?"

He turned to notice the blonde woman staring at him with disdain. He glanced at his guitar. "_What_? Don't get your knickers in a twist... I'm not gonna _play _the bloody thing down here. Piss off!"

Remarkably, she did, retreating behind the counter with her nose in the air. Even Sawyer looked a little impressed.

Kate stood up, terrified but strangely relieved. "Charlie?" she began hesitantly.

He grabbed her in an awkward hug, seemingly not surprised to see her at all. "You two came to see the show! That's _fantastic_!" he said cheerfully. "I sent out this mass email to everyone, and no one really responded... But anyway, you guys showed up! I can get you front row seats, backstage passes..." He stopped, looking from one to the other. "Where's Jack?" he asked, a little confused.

Sawyer was annoyed. "What.. you think just 'cause _she's _here, Jack's gotta be around somewhere too?"

Charlie shrugged, as if this was _exactly _what he thought

"Jack couldn't make it," Kate jumped in, spontaneously. Sawyer glanced at her, and she shot him a look that meant _Just go with it_. "He had to work. But he says hi."

Charlie beamed. "Really?"

Kate smiled politely, not answering.

"Hey!" Charlie said, as if he'd just thought of something. "You've got to come upstairs! I've got a surprise! You're not gonna believe this!" Dragging them in his overexcited wake, he got them into an elevator.

"So... Milwaukee, huh?" Sawyer said wryly on the way up. "Guess you guys really hit the big time."

"Well, we've got to start slow, you know," Charlie explained. "Get our sound out there again, build up the buzz, now that the band's back together. Well, technically... I'm the only original member. So we're not so much back together as... New and improved. But the _essence _is the same, you know? We're still _Driveshaft_. I figure within a few months, we'll be playing New York, LA - rocking out the stadiums again, like the old days."

"It's good to have dreams," Sawyer said with sarcasm. Kate shot him a _Please be nice_ look.

They got off on the fourth floor, and Charlie led them to a room at the end of the hall. After he'd unlocked it, they followed him in, cautiously. Kate was tensed for danger.

"Wait here," Charlie said, sounding out of breath. He dropped his guitar on a coffee table and it fell onto the floor with an injured twang. Grimacing, he stepped back and picked it up again, inspecting it and then laying it on the sofa with comical tenderness. He rushed from the room, telling them he'd be right back.

Kate and Sawyer looked at each other, nervously.

Footsteps came from the other room, and a female voice, protesting with annoyed laughter. "What? Charlie, I don't have time..."

Claire stopped abruptly when she saw them. Her smile faded, replaced by a hard look, wavering on the edge of worry.

Kate felt it like a cold wind, lowering the temperature of the room. The instant judgment hurt her with an almost physical pain. After everything they'd been through, it was too much. _I delivered your baby_! she felt like shouting. But she didn't have the heart for it. Instead, she attempted a weak, unthreatening smile. "Hi," she said softly.

Claire didn't respond. Charlie looked at her, apparently wondering what her problem was. "They came to see the show!" he exclaimed. "And you said no one would show up."

She turned toward him now, looking at him like he was an idiot. "Can I talk to you for a second? In the other room?"

Confused, he said, "Yeah, I guess so." He glanced at Sawyer with a bewildered look that seemed to imply, _Women, right?_

When they'd disappeared behind the closed door, Kate felt Sawyer's hand in the center of her back, reassuringly. They were quiet for a minute. She finally looked up at him. "Let's go."

He stopped her, pulling her back from the door. "How 'bout we just give 'em a chance to talk things over, first."

"Do we really need to?" she asked. "I think it's pretty obvious what's going on. How many rejections do you want to try to fit in before lunch? If we leave now, we can squeeze in one more."

For once, he rolled his eyes at _her _sarcasm, instead of the other way around.

Before she could press her point, the door opened and Charlie and Claire came back into the room, slowly. Charlie looked at them differently now - not with excitement, but with a slightly wounded suspicion, like they'd tricked him. The four of them faced each other, unsure who should speak first.

"They brought me in for questioning a few months ago," Claire began in a shaky voice, addressing Kate. "I didn't even know what was going on at first. There was no warning... no indication of what they wanted, or where they were taking me. I didn't even have a chance to pack a diaper bag. They kept me there for _five hours_." She sounded bitter. "Asking if I'd seen you, or if I'd heard from you, or where I _thought _you might be. Over and over again, in a hundred different ways. It was like being on trial."

Kate swallowed back a knot in her throat. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"They also gave me this phone number. I'm supposed to call it immediately if I get even the slightest scrap of information about you. Those are their words. The _slightest scrap_. If I don't, I can be prosecuted in American courts. I think they also mentioned something about _seven years minimum_."

Kate nodded, brushing away a tear impatiently, wishing she could be less emotional. "I understand." She glanced at Sawyer, who was staring at Claire with disappointment, as if he'd expected better from her. Charlie seemed miserable.

"Would you give us a head start, at least?" Kate asked. "An hour or two?"

Claire watched her, not answering. The room echoed with a tense silence. Kate turned toward the door. "Come on," she muttered to Sawyer. Her hand closed around the knob.

"We have a plane," Claire said abruptly.

Kate turned back around. "What?"

"I mean.. _the band_ has one," Claire said, crossing her arms protectively and looking at Charlie. "Their own private plane."

Kate looked from one to the other, not understanding what was going on. Sawyer seemed mystified as well.

"That's true," Charlie agreed, sounding hesitantly eager again. "It's easier that way, with all our equipment. We're going to Minneapolis tomorrow afternoon." He looked at Claire, questioningly, and she turned to Kate and Sawyer, seeming to come to a decision. She was quiet for a second.

"Do you want to go to Minneapolis?"

Sawyer watched Kate, and she felt tears springing to her eyes again, but for a different reason this time. She looked at him, wanting his opinion.

"It's in Minnesota," Charlie supplied helpfully.

"We know _where it's at_," Sawyer said with scorn.

"Are you sure?" Kate asked them, trying to keep her voice steady. It was northwest, which was exactly where they needed to go. But that wasn't the point. The point was that it was being offered to them at all.

Claire nodded, her expression softened now, but still vigilant. "You'll have to sleep on the floor tonight, though," she said regretfully, as if this last condition might change their minds. "We've only got the two rooms."

Kate smiled, a true, authentic smile now. "That's okay," she said, almost laughing.

A baby's wail came from the other room. "Excuse me," Claire said, leaving them.

Kate took Sawyer's hand, a little overcome by what had just happened. He squeezed it back. Neither one of them was quite sure how to accept a friendly overture of such magnitude. It seemed to be a skill that deteriorated through lack of use.

They looked up. Charlie was approaching them, hopefully.

"You guys are still coming to the show, right?"


	19. Chapter 19

Sorry to update on a Wednesday - but at least there's a Lost rerun tonight, instead of a new ep. Oh, and before I forget, someone asked in their review last time about Kate and Sawyer needing to get specific directions to this place they're traveling to - and yes, that WILL become an issue. Very soon, actually. ;) Thanks for bringing it up. And thanks to everyone else who reviews every week - it means the world to me. This chapter is long, and in a way, the first part is sort of like a separate chapter, but I decided to leave the three parts together as one. Hope you enjoy!

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* * *

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**Chapter 19**

Sitting on the edge of the hotel suite's bathtub with a towel wrapped around her, Kate rubbed lotion onto her legs and darted amused glances up at Sawyer. The tip of her tongue was wedged firmly between her teeth as she tried not to laugh at him.

"_Son of a..._," he muttered, staring down at the object in his hands with an expression bordering on hate. "Where the hell'd he get this thing, at a pet store?"

He was standing in front of the mirror above the sink with shower-dampened skin, wearing only boxers. They'd been guests here for less than three hours, but getting cleaned up had been top priority. Now, Sawyer was trying with determined persistence to figure out the electric razor he'd borrowed from Charlie. So far, things were not going well for him.

"Did you adjust the blade settings, so it's not a close shave?" Kate asked carefully.

"What do you think I'm tryin' to do?" He shot her an impatient look. Fiddling with the knob again, he said, "You know, this'd be a damn sight easier if you'd just let me shave it all off."

"I don't like it that way," she said, squeezing out more lotion.

"Why _not_?"

"Because." She sighed and balanced her right leg on the toilet seat. "It reminds me of when we first met. And I couldn't stand you back then."

"Thanks for bein' _honest_, sweetheart." He tried for a wounded appearance, not quite pulling it off successfully.

"Oh, come on," Kate said, laughing. "It's not like it's any big secret. You went out of your way to make people hate you."

Sawyer cocked his head at her, irritated. "Yeah, _well_... Still don't see what that has to do with me lookin' like I wake up in a cardboard box every morning." He flipped the switch on and raised the razor tentatively toward his face.

"I _like _the stubble, okay?" she insisted, feeling a little silly but telling the truth regardless. "You look better with it, trust me."

With a slight jerk and an injured buzzing sound, the razor appeared to shock him. He dropped it into the sink, cursing malevolently.

Kate stood up. "Here," she said, reaching for it. "Let me try. You're using the thing like it's a lawn mower." She backed up against the high counter. "Lift me up."

Looking annoyed but conceding, he gripped her around the waist and hoisted her up onto the sink, then remained standing between her knees, unnecessarily close to her. He traced his finger along the curves of her chest at the top of the towel, where the end was tucked under itself to secure it. "Always wondered how girls got towels to stay on like that," he said slyly. "There some trick to it?"

"Yeah," Kate said, rolling her eyes. "It's in the handbook." She did her best to ignore the chills that the path of his finger raised as it lightly traveled over her skin. "Try to hold still," she said, lifting the electric razor toward his cheek.

He obeyed her to the letter, not moving a muscle, but instead letting his eyes do the work. She attempted to start shaving him, but his gaze seemed to burn into her. She could have sworn she actually felt heat radiating from it. His expression was one of lust mixed with enjoyment, and she knew he was doing this on purpose to distract her. It was funny how, even after reaching a point where she was more comfortable around him than anyone she'd ever known, this electric tension still existed between them in all its original power. She wondered if that would ever change. It was sad to think that it might. But right now, this close to him, it was impossible to imagine that it could. Against her will, her entire body responded to his nearness and she felt her own temperature rise. There didn't seem to be enough air in the room.

"Would you stop staring at me like that?" she asked almost nervously.

"Like _what_?" he said in a low growl, giving her a meaningful smile. "Where else you want me to look?"

She decided to try another approach. Running the razor carefully along his jaw line, she hit on an idea. "Hey... Have you ever thought it was weird that the hair on your head is blonde, but your facial hair is dark? I mean, _really _dark?"

It worked like a charm. He immediately became disconcerted as the cocky smirk faded from his face. "_What_? No."

"Huh," she said casually, not meeting his eyes.

He waited a second. When he spoke, he sounded unsure of himself. "Why? What difference does it make?"

Shrugging, she said, "It doesn't. It's just... _strange_, that's all. I know _I've _never seen anything like it before." As she leaned over to tap the excess hair into the trash, she caught him sneaking a covert, worried glance at the mirror, as if noticing the color difference for the first time. She smiled secretly. It was mean, of course, but she couldn't deny that it was fun to mess with him.

As she turned back to him, he gave a short scoff, affecting indifference. "Maybe it's a sign of virility. Ever think of that?"

"Maybe," she agreed, smiling. "Anyway, I wouldn't worry about it. Eventually it'll all turn gray... assuming it doesn't fall out first, right?"

He narrowed his eyes, preparing for a retort, but in turning his head, the razor pressed too close and nicked him a little. He jerked back, and Kate pulled it away sharply. "Sorry," she said, cringing.

He sighed in irritation, raising a hand to his cheek. "I sure hope you know how lucky you are, Freckles. You think I'd let just any woman tell me how to shave?"

She resumed on his chin. "It's a privilege, I know," she said dryly.

"You gonna return the favor?"

Now her face registered confusion. "How? I just shaved my legs in the shower... What more do you want?"

Instead of replying, he raised his eyebrows at her, suggestively.

She felt herself flush. "No," she said firmly. "_Never_."

"Come _on_..." he urged hopefully. "This relationship thing's supposed to be a two-way street, ain't it?"

"Forget it," she said, laughing. "I let you pick out all my underwear last month. That'll have to be good enough."

"Underwear we'll never _see _again," he muttered bitterly, remembering the truck and everything they'd lost. "Damn, I'm gonna miss those red ones." His eyes took on a faraway look as he indulged in his own personal form of nostalgia.

"_I'm not_," Kate said under her breath.

"So, what do you think the FBI's gonna do with 'em? Try 'em on, put on a little fashion show for each other?"

She continued on toward his neck, tilting his head up, trying not to seem bothered. She made her voice light and unconcerned. "That's one image I could live without."

Sawyer went on, oblivious. "Imagine they'll take everything in as evidence... Not that it makes much difference. They know the stuff was ours. Probably want to look for some clue about where we're headed." He gave her a significant look. "Good thing you had the damn road atlas in your bag."

Kate swallowed, feeling her hand shake a little as she finished up with the razor over the curve of his lip. She flipped the switch off and laid it aside. "Look, do you think we could... not talk about it anymore?"

"Not talk about what? The luggage?"

She looked down at her hands, reluctant to speak. Barely above a whisper, she said, "The FBI. Every time I hear those three letters, it's like the floor drops out from under me. I can't..." She paused, closing her eyes, as if she couldn't finish the thought.

Sawyer watched her, a mixture of anger and sympathy in his expression, each emotion reinforcing the other. With an air of remorse, he ran his fingers from her elbows down to her hands, squeezing them hard.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I would just appreciate it if..."

"Consider it done," he interrupted her. "Won't mention the bastards again. All right?"

She gave him a weak smile, grateful. "Thanks." Freeing one of her hands from his, she touched his face, studying it, running her fingers along the angles. "I did a good job," she said, somewhat proudly.

He looked amused. "Hell of an ego you got there, darlin'."

"Yeah," she whispered, already leaning in toward him for a kiss. Before they broke apart, there was a light knock on the bathroom door. Kate jumped a little, scraping her lip on one of his upper teeth.

"It's open!" Sawyer called, keeping his hands around her waist.

"_Sawyer_," she hissed, leaning back and clutching her towel tighter against her as the handle turned. Who the hell besides him would call _It's open_! from the _bathroom_?

Claire poked her head in, then looked away from the two of them, slightly embarrassed. She seemed surprised to find them there together. "Oh.. Sorry. I just.. came up from the rehearsal. It seems the drummer is having some sort of hair gelemergency, so I've got to run some errands before the show tonight," she said. "Just wanted to know if you needed anything?"

"Um... I think we're good," Kate said, uncomfortable. "Thanks, though."

"Okay, then," Claire said. "I guess I'll see you later." She backed out awkwardly, pulling the door shut after her.

Sawyer looked at Kate like she was an idiot. "What do you mean you _think we're good_? Did you forget we don't have any clothes left? Or did you just want to wear the towel from now on?"

"Well, there's nothing _she _can do about it."

"You don't think?" he asked mischievously, swinging the door open and stepping out. "Hey, Tinkerbelle! Got a question for ya!"

"Sawyer, don't!" Kate followed him and stood in the doorway, still wrapped in the towel. She had the urge to jab him in the ribs, but he was already out of reach.

Claire was pulling on her coat. She looked at him, bemused. "What is it?"

"You like to shop, by any chance?" Sawyer looked hopeful.

She shrugged, thoughtfully. "Yeah... I guess so. Depends on what I'm buying. Why?"

"We had to leave Iowa in a bit of a hurry," he explained, in what seemed to Kate the understatement of the year. "Didn't have much time to pack, if you catch my drift."

Claire nodded, seeming to understand what he was getting at. "I noticed you didn't bring much. What exactly do you need?" she asked slowly.

"Couple changes of clothes would be nice," Sawyer said. "You up for it?"

"You don't have to," Kate said quickly, in an apologetic tone. "He's just being obnoxious. We can do it ourselves, later." She gave Sawyer a warning look.

"I think I can handle that," Claire said, as if she meant it. "Charlie's watching Aaron for the rest of the afternoon. And I'm sure it's probably not a good idea for you to be out in public right now, considering."

"You hear that, Freckles?" Sawyer asked with a lopsided grin. "She's concerned for your safety." Kate stared at him hard, annoyed but not wanting to argue in front of somebody else. He pressed his case. "Tell the truth, now. Who would you rather have pickin' out your clothes... Me or her?"

Kate finally sighed, swayed by the undeniable logic of this last veiled threat. She knew he was only doing this because he didn't want to have to go shopping himself, but still, what he said made sense. "Are you sure you don't mind?" she asked Claire.

"It's no big deal," she insisted. "I'd like to help, if I can."

"Okay," Kate said, giving in. "Let me just write down our sizes and the basic things we need." She grabbed some hotel stationery and a pen from the end table and sat down on the couch, wishing she was wearing something besides a towel. "Sawyer'll get you the money."

"I guess _I'll _get you the money," Sawyer said, raising his eyebrows in a comical way. He found his coat and dug around in it, then handed Claire a large wad of cash. "Here you go, peaches. Whatever you don't use for us, you just keep for yourself. Consider it a tip."

Kate glanced up from the pad she was writing on to see Claire blush a little. Sawyer was standing too close to her, still wearing nothing but boxers. "This is way too much," she protested, trying to hand some of it back without looking at him directly. "I can't take all this."

"Don't worry about it," he said, winking down at her. "Buy somethin' nice for yourself."

Kate shook her head incredulously. She couldn't believe that he was _flirting _with someone right in front of her. On second thought, though, yes, she could. It was Sawyer. She went back to writing, determined not to let it bother her.

He finally got Claire to take the money, and Kate went over the details of the list, thanking her over and over again for doing this for them, feeling guilty for even having to ask it of her. Apparently still flustered by Sawyer's attentions, Claire seemed relieved to finally get out of the room.

Sawyer smiled after her, leaning back against the couch cushions with a triumphant air, and then said, as if he was thinking out loud, "Cute as a button, all right... But I'm willin' to bet she's feisty between the sheets."

Kate looked at him in amazement. "I'm standing right here!"

He glanced at her, showing no regret at all. "_What_? Like the thought never crossed your mind?"

Not even bothering to respond to the absurdity of this, she closed her eyes briefly and then turned to head back to the bathroom. "I'll be drying my hair," she said. "Would you try to find something to put on?"

"What for?" he called after her. "We got the place to ourselves for awhile. You really want to waste such a golden opportunity?"

His voice had so much conviction in it that she smiled as she closed the door. She felt a strange kind of possessiveness toward him, all of a sudden. Maybe it came from seeing him try to work his magic on Claire. Flirting came as naturally to him as breathing, and he seemed to do it without even being completely aware of it himself. But since they'd been together, they'd existed in such isolation that she hadn't yet been faced with any true rival for his attention. Claire was certainly no _rival_, as far as that went, but the scene that had just taken place brought out an emotion that had lain dormant within her until now. For the first time, she thought of Sawyer as _hers_. She was almost embarrassed by this realization of something she felt would be best expressed in a bad country-western song. Even so, she couldn't help feeling reassured that when all was said and done, the flirting didn't mean anything. It was _her _that he really wanted. Nobody else. She turned the blow-dryer on, satisfied with this truth.

Sawyer remained on the couch, not bothering to look for anything else to wear. He knew there wasn't any point. Kate _knew _he knew there wasn't any point.

They both knew that they would be wearing nothing at all in less than five minutes.

* * *

Later that night, at 1:00 in the morning to be exact, Sawyer waited outside a municipal auditorium, sitting on the curb, half-heartedly smoking a cigarette. Glancing impatiently at his watch, he flicked the stub into the street and watched it smolder. He still didn't know exactly how he'd been roped into this. Kate had done her best to convince him that they owed it to Charlie, that it was the least they could do, that it would mean _so much_ to him. Of course she'd go if she _could_, she'd argued, but it just wasn't safe. So couldn't he do it instead? For both of them? Please? Somehow, against all odds, she'd gotten her way. Maybe it was the fact that she'd been so sincere, so compassionate, or that she'd seemed to count on him wanting to do the right thing. Or maybe it was the fact that she'd been naked when she asked. In any case, here he was, waiting on the cold streets of Milwaukee after having suffered through an entire two hours of the Driveshaft reunion tour. And he had the ringing eardrums and the pounding headache to prove it.

After what felt like an hour, Charlie finally emerged from a stage exit leading into the alley. He bounced down the concrete steps as if he still felt the energy from the concert. Hitting the sidewalk, he paused and looked around, a little confused.

"No autograph seekers? This is where they usually wait."

"'Fraid you just missed 'em, Tiny Tim. Whole gaggle of 'em out here too, all screamin' and drooling over just the thought of gettin' a piece of you. Guess they got tired of waiting."

Charlie was dumbfounded. "You serious?"

Sawyer gave a short snort of laughter, digging in his pocket for another cigarette. Seeming to realize he was being screwed with, Charlie stepped into the street and looked up and down it. "Hey... Where's our bloody driver? He was supposed to be here after the show!"

"Ah... Now _that _one I might be able to help you with," Sawyer said, standing up from the curb. "Beefy guy? Looks like Ricky Ricardo on steroids?"

"That's the one."

"He took off earlier. Said he hadn't been paid, and then started cursin' in Spanish. Threw in the word _Driveshaft _a lot. I'm guessin' he's not a fan."

"That _wanker_!" Charlie exploded. "I was gonna pay him! If everybody would just... have a little _patience_, you know? We're trying to get things up and running again, here! It doesn't all happen overnight!"

"Don't know what you're hollerin' at me for, amigo... I ain't askin' for money."

Making an effort to get himself under control, Charlie pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head. "Yeah... Right. Sorry." He sighed. "So I guess we'll walk. That all right with you?"

"Looks I don't have a choice," Sawyer said wearily. It occurred to him to wonder how the hell he'd ended up facing the prospect of a leisurely stroll through a freezing Wisconsin city at 1:00 in the morning with _Charlie_, of all people. If there was such a thing as fate, it liked to fuck with him.

"So?" Charlie asked as they started walking. "What'd you think of the show?"

Sawyer opened his mouth to make a cutting remark, but then he had the sudden feeling that Kate was hovering near him, watching this exchange, pleading with him not to be cruel. That was ridiculous, of course. But _damn her _for being in his head.

"How often you guys practice? _Rehearse_?" he clarified.

"Six days a week, usually."

Sawyer was quiet for a second. "I'd try for all seven," he suggested, hiding a smirk.

"Ah." Charlie seemed a little hurt. "Okay."

Now Sawyer felt mildly regretful. He tried to think of something more supportive. "Crowd seemed to dig it. Chick behind me threw her bra and everything."

"Yeah.. Yeah I saw that!" Charlie's spirits appeared to lift. "That was our first bra-thrower this season!"

"Glad I got to be there for it," Sawyer muttered wryly. "So how much cash you take in from these shindigs, anyway? Seemed like the place was filled up."

"Well, it depends on the show. This one was a thousand-seater, at thirty bucks a head... so that's..." He appeared to be calculating. "Thirty thousand? American dollars, I mean."

Sawyer shook his head ruefully. "Thirty thousand bucks for _that_? Damn... I'm in the wrong line of work."

"What _is _your line of work, anyway?" Charlie inquired.

Glancing at him, Sawyer said in an evasive tone, "Forget it." They kept walking.

"Anyway, we don't get to keep _all _the money. Have to pay for the concert hall, the booker, the manager... loads of stuff. But we get some of it. I've got to be careful how I spend now, you know... I'm starting up a college fund for Aaron."

"_College _fund?" Sawyer looked at him like he was crazy. "Kid ain't even yours! What the hell you want to waste your money for?"

"Well, he _will _be mine," Charlie said defensively. "After we get married, I mean. I'm gonna adopt him."

His pace slowing a little, Sawyer seemed surprised. "You asked her to marry you?"

"Yeah. Couple weeks ago."

Sawyer waited a second, almost hesitant. "She say yes?"

Charlie gave him a look as if the answer to this should be self-evident. "Of course. Don't they usually?"

Looking away, Sawyer agreed in a strangely bitter tone, "_Usually_." He pitched his second cigarette away from him. It suddenly made him feel sick. They were approaching a bridge now, and he stopped when he got to the middle of it, leaning over the edge. He seemed to be debating with himself whether or not to speak, but the words finally forced themselves out. "Let me ask you somethin'. You ever get a girl knocked up?"

Charlie was bewildered. "What? _No_! Who said that? Because they're a sodding liar, whoever they are! I may have been pretty messed up in the past, but I think I would remember if I..."

"Not _you_," Sawyer interrupted him, with scorn. "Don't give yourself an ulcer, padre. The question was theoretical."

"Oh." Now Charlie looked relieved. "Then what are you asking for?"

Sawyer seemed to consider whether or not to answer this truthfully, but chickened out. "Never mind." Turning, he started to move off the bridge, but Charlie jumped in front of him, blocking the sidewalk.

"_Never mind_? What the hell, man? You can't just ask a question like that and then say _Never mind_. Even _you're _not that much of a prick." He paused, thinking. "It's you, isn't it? You got somebody pregnant?" He waited a second. "Who's the girl?" When Sawyer didn't answer, he ventured a guess, uncertainly, as if he hoped he was wrong. "It's not...It's not _Kate_, is it?"

Sawyer shot him an angry, ashamed sideways glance that answered the question perfectly, then he leaned over the edge of the bridge again. Slowly, as if stunned, Charlie imitated him, standing next to him and looking down. After waiting a beat, he looked over at Sawyer and said, "Does Jack know?"

"_No, Jack _doesn't know!" Sawyer said, looking pissed. "Why the hell would he?"

"Jesus, man... don't blow your top off! I just... always thought she had a _thing _for him, is all."

"Well, she _doesn't_," Sawyer said. "Though I'm startin' to think maybe _you _do."

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "Come off it," he said, annoyed. "All I meant was that..." He stopped himself. "You know what, forget it. I don't know why I'm even talking to you." He started to move off the bridge.

Sawyer looked toward him, and then, as if the words were torn from him in spite of his intentions, he hollered out, "She won't take the damn test."

Charlie turned back, confused. Warily, he retraced a few of his steps, listening.

"First one was expired, so apparently it doesn't _count_," Sawyer continued in a strange, ironic tone. "Won't take another test, won't go to a doctor... won't even _talk _about the damn thing unless she's ravin' in her sleep. Like she thinks if she just ignores it long enough, it'll go away on its own." He laughed harshly. "That seem normal to you?"

Stopping at the railing again, Charlie considered. "Normal? I wouldn't know. In all honesty, though... Can you blame her? I mean, it's not exactly perfect timing."

"Really? Guess I hadn't _noticed_," Sawyer said sarcastically.

"How far along is she?"

"Hell if I know. She's not pukin' anymore. Whatever that means."

Charlie was quiet for a few seconds. "What happens if she goes to jail?" he asked tentatively.

"She ain't gonna go to jail," he replied in a firm tone, but with a stab of fear in his heart to disqualify it.

"She might," Charlie persisted. "If what Claire said is true, then it sounds like they're pulling out all the stops to catch her. If they can find the Unabomber then they can bloody well find _her_."

Sawyer turned away, obscuring his face by looking down at the stream that flowed beneath them. It was one thing to harbor these vague fears in his own mind, but it was a thousand times worse to hear them stated, objectively, by somebody else. It made him confront the probable futility of all they were doing, of all the trouble they were going to in order to reach Canada. In the end, maybe none of it would matter at all. The authorities could find her and take her at literally _any _moment, and she knew that even better than he did. There was no safe place. For all he knew, she could have been taken from the hotel by the time he got back there. She could be in police custody at this moment, and there would be nothing he could do about it. The realization made him want to shove a knife into somebody's throat. He fought back a momentary panic, telling himself he was being ridiculous. She was asleep right now on the floor of the hotel room, and he'd see her in less than an hour. Then they would continue to proceed one step at a time on their journey, which was all they _could _do. There was no use dwelling on the what-ifs.

"I suppose you could look on the bright side, though," Charlie said, as if he'd been musing on this for a moment.

Sawyer looked at him like he was crazy. What could _possibly _be the bright side?

Charlie went on. "If she _does _get caught, then a jury would be much more lenient on a pregnant woman. Lighter sentence and that kind of thing. After all, everyone likes a good sob story, right?"

Sawyer shook his head. It was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard, and yet it made perfect sense. He'd never thought of it before, but as crazy as it was, it somehow made him feel better. He hoped Charlie couldn't see that, though.

"Anyway," Charlie said, with an air of finality. "Congratulations, I guess."

"For _what_?" Sawyer seemed truly mystified.

Charlie looked at him like it should be obvious. "You're gonna be a _dad_."

Although his scowl remained in place, Sawyer was visibly taken aback by this statement. Even though the meaning was nothing new, the words themselves threw him. A complicated realization played out across his features. He didn't seem to have any idea how to respond. Finally, he gave a contemptuous huff that was somewhat lacking in conviction. "Congratulations, _yourself_, Linus. On your..." He made a face, not wanting to say the word that seemed to him so feminine.

"Engagement?" Charlie supplied, helping him out.

"Yeah," he said grudgingly. "That."

"Thanks."

The two of them stood there, facing each other. An awkward silence followed. The interval stretched out. They glanced around, unsure where to look.

"Right, then." Charlie finally said. "Should we keep walking?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Sawyer said, relieved.

They resumed their trek back toward the hotel.

* * *

Kate rolled onto her left side for what felt like the hundredth time. A few minutes later, she rolled back over onto her right. When that seemed to have no effect, she lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. Nothing was working. It wasn't the bed, she knew. Although it was just a few blankets and couch cushions piled on the floor, she'd never had much of a problem sleeping in uncomfortable places. She'd grown so accustomed to it that she could rest easily just about anywhere, no matter how physically cramped or miserable. That wasn't it. The reason she couldn't sleep, she suspected, was that Sawyer wasn't next to her. And this knowledge annoyed the _hell _out of her. She hated to think that she'd grown so dependent on the presence of another person that the simple lack of his body beside hers could keep her awake at night. But there was no other explanation.

Sighing in exasperation, she sat up and looked around. Maybe it would be best to just give up, for the time being. Anything was better than lying here in the dark, alone with her own thoughts. Suddenly, as if on purpose to distract her, from the room on the left came a subdued whimpering sound. Curious, Kate got up and inched the door open. It was dark, but there was enough light coming in from an illuminated billboard just outside the window to allow her to see. There seemed to be a ton of extra band equipment stacked in here, guitars and microphone stands and speakers. No wonder they needed their own plane, she thought. In the center of the room, occupying its own uncluttered space, was a small, portable crib. She walked toward it, hesitantly, looking over the edge.

The baby was asleep. The sounds he'd been making were part of a dream, apparently, and nothing to be worried about. Kate watched him, unable to look away. "Hey, kid," she whispered. "You probably don't remember me. But I was the first one to set eyes on you." She smiled. "It was pretty disgusting."

Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, she looked up. Claire stood in the doorway, in fuzzy pink pajamas. "Is everything all right?" she asked, looking from Kate to the crib, worried.

"Yeah," Kate said. "He was, um... He was making noise, a minute ago. But he's still asleep."

"Oh," Claire said, approaching the crib. "He does that sometimes." She looked down at the baby, lovingly. "He sleeps like the dead, though. Nothing wakes him up until he's ready. I'm grateful for that."

"He's getting big," Kate said.

"Tell me about it," Claire said. "A few more months and he'll weigh more than I do."

They were quiet for a minute, watching the baby's almost imperceptible breathing.

"So... I know I shouldn't really ask," Claire said. "But it's driving me crazy, so I'm just gonna do it. Did you really do what they said you did?" She looked at Kate, then lowered her voice, speaking gingerly. "Did you really... blow up _your dad_?"

Kate was surprised by the unexpected bluntness of this question. She tried not to let it show. "Wow... It sounds so much worse when _you _say it," she remarked with strained humor. Claire didn't seem particularly amused.

Slowly, Kate moved over to a stereo speaker that was near the window. Sitting down on the edge of it, she picked up a stuffed animal and turned it in her hands, thoughtfully. She sighed. "There's more to the story." She looked up at Claire. "Whatever you heard... There's more to it than that. That's really... all I can say, right now. Believe me. You don't want to hear the rest."

Claire seemed to digest this bit of information. "Did he deserve it?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Kate looked back down at the stuffed animal. "I thought he did. Now..." She shrugged, looking tortured. "I don't know what to think anymore. I'm probably not the best person to judge."

After a second, Claire said, "My dad walked out on us when I was a kid. Sometimes... I have this dream, where I find him and knock all his teeth out with a baseball bat."

Kate smiled, appreciating the fact that this admission had been made for her benefit. "No offense, but I can't really imagine you doing that."

Claire smiled too, crossing her arms and sitting down on a guitar amplifier. "Yeah. Neither can I." She sighed. "I'm sorry about earlier... When you first got here. For acting weird, I mean. I just... I feel like I always have to think of him first, in every situation, you know?" She gestured toward the crib. "I know it makes me seem paranoid."

"It doesn't," Kate said, shaking her head. "I hate that we have to be here, putting you and Charlie in danger. We weren't even looking for help, believe it or not. We chose this hotel completely at random. It's just one of those... weird coincidences, I guess."

"I don't know," Claire said, reflecting. "I don't really believe in coincidences."

Kate looked amused. "Astrology, right?"

Claire nodded, not offended. "I know, you think it's crazy. But there's more to it than you'd believe." She paused, and they were quiet for a second. When she started back in, she sounded almost sly. "So.. You and Sawyer, huh? Even with astrology, I don't think I would have seen that one coming."

Unexpectedly, Kate felt her cheeks heat up. "Does it seem weird to you?"

"It doesn't, actually," Claire said. "Maybe that's what's surprising. Like it should have been obvious from the beginning."

"Well, don't worry," Kate said. "It wasn't obvious to me either. It's the last thing I would have predicted."

"Don't tell him this," Claire said in a confidential tone. She seemed embarrassed. "But... I sort of had a crush on him, back on the island."

Kate was struck by a sudden desire to laugh, which she suppressed. "You did?"

"Well, I mean... _Look _at the guy," Claire replied, like this explained everything.

Nodding, Kate looked away. "_Yeah_," she agreed with a smile. This conversation made her feel like a teenager.

"Anyway.. it's not like I ever would have done anything about it. Too much for me to handle. I usually go for the _sensitive, artsy _types." She emphasized these words in a funny way.

"Like... Charlie, for instance?" Kate asked, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.

"Okay, so maybe _artsy _is an overstatement. But he _is _sensitive. And... caring, and considerate, and responsible," she recited in a litany, like she was trying to reassure herself. "He's crazy about me. And he loves Aaron just as much as I do."

"So it's pretty serious?"

"You could say that." Claire held out her hand, palm downward. The glint of a diamond caught Kate's eye.

"Oh, my God... I'm so sorry," Kate said, taking her fingers and turning them toward the light. "I didn't even notice, before."

"It's all right," Claire said. "I don't exactly flash the thing around a lot. Sometimes I forget I'm wearing it."

"It's beautiful," Kate whispered, letting go of her hand. "Really."

"Thanks," Claire muttered, as if she didn't want to talk about it.

Kate looked at her closely. "You don't really seem all that... _excited_."

"Oh, I am," Claire protested, not very convincingly. "It's just... I guess I always thought that getting married would be more of a weak-in-the-knees, fluttering heart type of thing. But... this is much better. Because he's my best friend. And... this is what we need. It's what _Aaron _needs. That's all that matters."

Her words made Kate sad, for some reason. She had the sense that she should warn her about something... but what? Who was she to give advice to anybody? Instead, she changed the subject. "Can I ask you something? And if it's none of my business, just tell me." She looked over at the crib where the baby slept. "Where's his dad?" she whispered.

Claire's expression became a trifle bitter, but she attempted to mask it. "Your guess is as good as mine. I don't expect to ever see him again."

"He didn't want to have kids?" Kate ventured.

"Oh, he _did_. That's the irony of the whole thing, actually. He was the one who convinced me to have the baby in the first place. I thought we should just end the pregnancy and get on with our lives... that it would be the smart thing to do. We were so young, and we didn't have any money... But he talked me into it. Said we'd make it work, somehow. That we'd be a family." She paused. "He left when I was in my sixth month. He said he didn't think it was _working out_."

Kate wasn't sure what to say. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was better than if he'd waited and done it later."

"I guess that's a good way to look at it," Kate said quietly. The foremost thought in her mind, though, was that Sawyer would never do that to her. There was no rational reason to believe it, but she felt it was true all the same. Sawyer would _never _do that to her.

"It's not like I can really hold too much of a grudge, though," Claire said. "If it wasn't for him pressuring me, I wouldn't have had Aaron. The way I look at it is... If I _hadn't _had him, I _might _have regretted it. I'll never know. But, now that I _do _have him... I'll never regret it. Not for one second."

Kate swallowed hard, feeling sudden, unwanted tears stinging her eyes. The words hit too close to home, and she wished more than anything that they had nothing to do with her. But they did, didn't they? She took a deep breath, wanting to tell her secret, wanting to talk to _somebody_, for once, who might just possibly understand a tiny part of what she was feeling.

Claire was watching her, curiously, like she detected something. "What is it?" she asked.

But she couldn't do it. The words lodged in her throat, and they would go no further. She simply couldn't do it. It wasn't fair, anyway, to burden somebody else with her problems. It was enough that she was being allowed to stay here, and that she was getting a free plane trip even though it was risky for anyone to have anything to do with her. But more than that, she suddenly felt so much older than Claire that it was as if she couldn't remember how to speak the same language. She _was _older, she knew... But she didn't feel just years older. She felt decades older. Centuries, even. And Claire didn't deserve to have to listen to whatever she'd been about to say. It would be a mistake to think they had anything real in common.

"Nothing," she finally forced out, looking down quickly.

Claire kept looking at her, and she didn't seem convinced. But before she could say anything else, they both heard the door open in the next room.

Looking up, Claire said, "Sounds like they're back." She stood up. "I've got to go call room service and order grilled cheese sandwiches." She rolled her eyes, seeming reluctant to say this. "Charlie.. always craves grilled cheese after a show."

Kate laughed, nodding. "Okay."

"You want anything?"

"No, thanks."

Claire left the room, and Kate heard muffled voices. She stood up and approached the crib again, for one more glimpse. The baby still rested in the same position, oblivious to everything that had passed. She envied him.

"Figured you'd be asleep," she heard from the doorway. Turning, she saw Sawyer. Without even realizing she did it, her face lit up in a smile of welcome. She put her finger to her lips to indicate he should keep his voice down. He came toward her.

"How was the show?" she whispered.

His scornful expression told her more than words could have. "You owe me one, Freckles... Just want you to remember that."

She raised up on her toes to kiss him, then leaned back with a suspicious air, keeping her hands locked behind his neck. "Have you been smoking?"

"Matter of fact, I _have_."

She smiled. "You know, you could at least make an _attempt _to lie about it."

"Nah," he said. "Not my style."

With a deep, contented sigh, she leaned against him. They both stared down at the baby, their faces unreadable. Neither said anything at all. After a few seconds of silence, Kate said, "I'm tired."

She moved toward the other room, where their makeshift bed was. Sawyer followed, hanging onto her hand. He glanced back at the crib again, then shut the door quietly.


	20. Chapter 20

**Just to let everyone know - I'm posting two chapters in this update, Chapters 20 & 21. So make sure to check for both, if they don't show up right away. Happy Valentine's Day! And thanks a million for reading and reviewing.**

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**Chapter 20**

Although she'd been worried about it since yesterday morning, the process of getting on Charlie's plane was simpler than Kate had expected. She'd had nervous images of waiting in lines, of people milling about, of security guards and baggage checks and identity verifications. She'd been prepared to bolt at a moment's notice, and already, in her mind, she'd mapped out contingency plans for everything that could possibly go wrong. To her surprise, though, it turned out that all they had to do was show up, walk to the small plane which was parked at one end of an empty runway, and get on it. All the details were taken care of in advance, and her worries had been for nothing.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped up into the interior of the cabin. It was nicer than she'd expected, and larger. By glancing around she estimated that it seated about twenty, and there was an expanded cargo hold at the back to house the band's instruments and equipment. The seats were leather and thickly upholstered, separated by a carpeted center aisle. She swung her backpack into a seat and glanced around, then jumped slightly in surprise. Across from her, three men were passed out, two on the seats, one slouched onto the floor. They all wore black and had piercings.

She felt Sawyer standing behind her. Turning, she looked at him questioningly.

"The rest of the _band_," he muttered with scorn. "If we're lucky, they'll stay unconscious for the whole trip."

"Oh, they will!" Charlie said cheerfully, boarding the plane behind them. "Late nights, you know. I used to be nocturnal too, in the old days. I've got _responsibilities _now, though." He emphasized this word so proudly, with such grave seriousness, that Kate had to smile.

She leaned past him to glimpse Claire, standing in the entrance, loaded down with a large purse, a diaper bag, and the baby. She looked flustered and out of breath. Kate gave her a sympathetic look. "Do you need some help?"

Charlie spun around, moving into action. "I got it!" He commenced trying to pull the diaper bag over her head, but it was tangled in the holster that held the baby to her chest, and she protested, "Charlie... wait!" Her hair became tangled in the overall mess, and as Charlie worked diligently at trying to extricate Aaron, their frustrated, strained voices overlapped and interrupted each other. _"I've just got to get it under... Don't pull it that way, you're pinching me... Can you lift your arm a little?... I think I could do this easier myself... You're suffocating him, Claire!" _

Kate suddenly noticed that Sawyer was staring at this scene, miserably. When he caught her eye, he turned and headed toward the back of the plane, in the direction of the cargo hold. "Gonna sit in the back," he said.

Confused, she followed after him and stood in the doorway to the storage section, watching as he settled back against a guitar case and stretched his legs out in front of him.

"You want to stay back here?" she asked. "There aren't even any windows."

"That's the best part," he said, lifting an eyebrow at her.

"Are you nervous about flying?"

He laughed bitterly. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe we just ain't _meant _to be in the air?"

"You made the trip back from Australia okay."

"Yeah... and I was drunk off my ass during it. You want me to make it a habit?"

"I don't think it'll take more than an hour to get to Minneapolis. You won't even have _time _to get drunk."

"You want to wager a little something on that?"

She smiled a little. "That's okay." Glancing around, she added, "But I hope you're not expecting me to sit back here with you. If I can't look out the window, I'll feel claustrophobic."

"Go, then," he said. "I ain't stoppin' ya."

She seemed hesitant, not wanting to leave him there.

Sawyer sighed. "You scared I'm gonna get away, Freckles? Not too many places to hide on this thing."

Rolling her eyes, she turned toward the front. "All right. If you need me, you know where to find me."

"Likewise," he muttered, already closing his eyes and trying to force himself to fall asleep before the engine actually started.

* * *

The take-off was delayed for about twenty minutes while Charlie waited for his roadie crew to show up. When they never did, he got pissed and said he would hire another one in Minneapolis. Then he went into a self-pitying rant about how everybody kept letting him down, and how nobody took the band seriously, and how being the bass player _and _trying to keep track of everyone else at the same time wasn't the easiest bloody job in the world, you know? Claire calmly went on unpacking material from her bag and arranging the baby's things. She seemed to be quite adept at ignoring him.

Finally, the pilot stepped back to tell them that they couldn't block air traffic any longer, and that they had to leave. As the plane taxied down the runway and lifted into the air, Kate felt that familiar, weightless feeling in the pit of her stomach. She stared out the window as they climbed higher and higher, watching as Milwaukee and the shore of Lake Michigan receded behind them. The landscape they passed over was now a patchwork of farms and grazing land, some brown in the late November cold, some still green with winter crops. It looked like there'd been a snowfall, maybe a week or so ago, but most of it was gone now.

Kate loved flying. She always had. There was something exhilarating about being above everything, being able to look down and gain such a wide perspective on the world. She loved the way the lakes looked like puddles, the cars like bugs, and the way the people weren't even visible. It made it seem as if, maybe, things down there weren't so all-consumingly important after all. Maybe her own crime wasn't even that important, in the grand scheme of things. If anyone had witnessed that explosion in Iowa from this height, they would have seen nothing but a brief flare of orange, like a cigarette lighter being struck and then allowed to die down. It would have looked like nothing. And although she knew it was dangerous to think this way, it made her feel better all the same.

She was surprised to find that the horror of the plane crash had had little effect on her ability to enjoy flying. She didn't feel nervous at all, and she had no fears about the back of the plane flying off if she turned her head. What she was most conscious of, actually, was the freedom of her hands. The last two times she'd been on a plane, she'd been cuffed to the seat. The knowledge that now she could do whatever she wanted - that she could stretch, could reach up into the overhead compartment, could even walk around the cabin, if she wanted - made her feel somehow excited. It was the thrill she always got when she was on the run, and evading detection successfully. She stared out the window as if she expected to see the authorities futilely chasing her, down on the ground.

In her intense viewing of the Wisconsin countryside, she barely noticed when someone sat down in the seat in front of her. Glancing up, she saw that it was Charlie, turned sideways so that he could face her. His arm rested casually over the top of the seat.

"Hey," he said. "Enjoying the view?"

"Yeah," she said. "It's amazing."

He waited a second. "So... How are you feeling?"

She thought about this question for a second, puzzled. "I'm... okay," she said slowly. "How are _you _feeling?"

"Me?" he asked, pointing at himself. "Oh, I'm fine. I mean, of course _I'm _fine." He sounded as if this should be obvious. "No reason why I shouldn't be."

Kate nodded a little. "Well... good." She gave him a funny, uncertain smile.

Charlie darted his gaze around, as if to see if anyone was looking. "Brought you this, though... just in case," he said in a low voice, passing something to Kate. She examined it, turning it over in her hands. It was a barf bag.

"Charlie," she said. "Thank you, but... I'm okay, really. I never get airsick."

"I believe you," he said, like he was humoring her. "But, you know, you should just keep it handy... in case, for some crazy reason, you do happen to get... _airsick_," he added, winking meaningfully on the last word.

Not having any clue how to respond to this, Kate tucked the bag into the pocket of the seat-back in front of her, giving him a strange look. "Okay."

There was an awkward pause. Charlie spoke next. "So, I guess you heard our good news? About the engagement?"

"Yeah," Kate said, relieved he was talking about something that made sense. "Claire told me. It's wonderful... I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks," he said, blushing just a tiny bit. "The ring's just temporary.. I'm gonna get a bigger one."

"The ring is beautiful," she said, with a reassuring smile.

"Well," he said, looking down, embarrassed. "The diamond's real, at least." He cleared his throat. "So, anyway, I wanted to say congratulations to you, before I forget."

Kate gave him a confused look. At first she thought maybe he was being sarcastic, congratulating her on running from the Feds, or on being a fugitive. But he looked earnest enough. "For _what_?" she finally asked.

Now Charlie seemed almost to regret his words, and he became vague, glancing toward the back where Sawyer was, as if afraid of being overheard. "Oh, you know... Just things, in general. _Life_. Being alive. The miracle of life." He looked back at her. "We take it for granted, you know!" He said this as if he was passing along a bit of wisdom.

Kate stared at him for a few mystified seconds before answering. "Oh. Well... _thanks_. I'm glad you're alive too." She was starting to feel like she was back in Sawyer's kitchen, talking to Greg. Turning to the window, she wondered if Charlie would take the hint and go somewhere else.

But he kept watching her, now drumming his fingers on the top of the seat. He hummed a song under his breath. Stopping suddenly, he said, out of the blue, "You know what I was thinking earlier?"

Sighing inwardly, Kate looked back up at him. "What's that?"

"I was thinking that _Charlie _is a really great name." He went on slowly, thoughtfully. "I mean, if one were _going _to give something a name, for whatever reason... _Charlie _would be almost the perfect choice, if you think about it. It comes from _Charles_, you know... which is manly, but it's not _too _manly. Not like... like Biff, or Rambo, or anything. It's tough, but it's got a sort of.. _sensitive _side to it."

Kate had absolutely no idea how to respond. "I like your name," she said carefully, almost supportively.

"You do? That's fantastic!" He made a delighted movement forward, and Kate pressed herself back against her seat, warily. "And you know another great thing about it... It could even be used for a girl. Of course I'm not saying there's anything particularly _girly _about it, but it could really work both ways, don't you think? It's flexible."

She shrugged, giving up on figuring out what he meant. "Sure. I guess so."

"All right, then." He seemed pleased by the way this conversation had gone, like he'd made his point. Examining her, he again changed subjects. "So, have you given any thought to painkillers?"

"Painkillers?" Confused, her mind shot back to the morphine tablets Sawyer had dredged up for her when she'd buried rusted metal in her arm. They were the only painkillers that sprang to mind, in relation to herself.

"Just a bit of advice, but you don't want to let them talk you into that _all-natural_ crap. Claire's heavy into that herbal scene, but it's complete bollocks. Trust me, you should just go for the good stuff and not think twice."

She tried without much luck to understand what he was referring to. For a second, she was convinced he was going to attempt to sell her something, but his next comment was once again a complete change of subject.

"I've got to say, though, you look exactly the same as the last time I saw you. Really! I'm not exaggerating. I mean, possibly there's a little more weight in the chest area, but that's a good thing, isn't it?"

"_Excuse me_?"

"Don't get me wrong, there was nothing lacking there, _before_. But every girl's up for a little.. _natural _enhancement, right? It's part of the trade-off!"

Kate's face took on a bewildered expression. She glanced back to make sure Claire wasn't watching, and then leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Charlie, are you doing drugs again?"

"_What_?" He was stunned. "Of course not!"

"Because if you are, then it's serious. I really think Claire should know."

Charlie seemed hurt and offended. "What the hell, Kate? I'm only making small talk, here!"

She leaned back again, studying him, wondering if she'd overreacted. "It's just that you just seem a little... _out of it_. You're not making any sense. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine! I'm doing my best here, but Sawyer told me not to mention..." He suddenly stopped himself, as if he'd gone too far.

"Not to mention what?"

"Forget it. I never should have said anything." He stood up, uncomfortable now. "I've got to go put a word in with the pilot, anyway. Make sure everything's on schedule. Sorry to bother you."

She watched him walk to the front and disappear into the cockpit. She hoped she hadn't hurt his feelings. But what did _Sawyer _have to do with this? And then, in a flash, it hit her. She felt like a complete idiot for not finding the connecting thread between Charlie's seemingly random remarks, and she blushed even though he was already gone. _Damn it, Sawyer_. Leaning her head back against the seat, she closed her eyes in irritation. She had to fight the urge to go back and talk to him about this immediately, but it was a conversation she didn't want anybody to overhear. It would have to wait.

In the meantime, she would try to relax and enjoy the rest of the flight. She took a deep, fortifying breath. Before she turned her attention back to the landscape below, she checked to make sure nobody was looking, and then cast a scrutinizing glance down at her chest. With a satisfied lift of her eyebrows, she looked back out the window.

* * *

In his anxiety-ridden doze, Sawyer felt something knock against his ankle. Forcing his eyes open, he waited to see if the plane was breaking apart yet. But instead, it was Claire, reaching for an extra bag stashed on a shelf above his head. Her foot had bumped into him.

"Sorry to wake you," she said. "I ran out of nappies."

"Don't worry about it," he mumbled groggily, propping himself up and moving his legs out of her way. "Guess I might as well stay awake for the last few minutes of my sorry-ass life."

Claire smiled. "It's a really safe plane, you know. I'm paranoid about it too. I'm guessing we _all _are, now."

"Yeah," he said. "That's _one _vacation souvenir we all got to take home for free. Lucky us."

Kneeling down on the floor, she spread a blanket awkwardly with one hand and placed Aaron on it. He fussed and beat the air with his fists, but on hearing Sawyer's voice, he settled down again. Claire started to unfasten his diaper.

"No offense, Sheila, but you gotta do that back here?"

"He's only wet," she insisted. "No smell, I promise."

Sawyer made a face and tried not to watch this mysterious, disturbing process, but there didn't seem to be anywhere else to look, all of a sudden.

"Christ, what's _wrong _with him?" he asked, staring in horrified fascination.

Claire was alarmed, and she followed his gaze. At first, she was confused. Then she laughed a little and went back to wiping him off.

"There's nothing _wrong _with him. He isn't circumcised. There was no way to do it on the island, and I haven't gotten around to it yet, since we've been back." She picked up a plastic bottle of powder.

Sawyer seemed somewhat relieved by this explanation, but not completely. He hoped Claire would come to her senses and get the job done soon. The poor kid would never get laid, looking like that.

He was quiet for a few minutes, wanting to broach a particular subject but not quite sure how to go about it. He knew that he probably shouldn't say anything. But the need was eating at him like acid, and he couldn't quite understand why. Hesitantly, he asked, "So... Kate tell you the big news? About our... _situation_?" He tried to inject sarcasm into his tone.

Claire glanced up from sprinkling powder on the baby. Assuming he was talking about the fact that the two of them were a couple, she answered in the affirmative. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, she did. That's exciting, right? Me and Charlie, and now you two... I guess maybe being on that island had its good points after all."

"_Exciting_?" Sawyer said, his attention caught by the unusual word. "Don't know if I'd call it _that_. It ain't exactly like we were expectin' this."

Claire seemed a little puzzled. "Well, that's what she said, too. That she didn't expect it. But... she seemed really happy about it, and everything."

Sawyer stared at her, shocked. "You serious? She said she was _happy_?" He looked like he dreaded her next words and craved them at the same time.

Unsure why this news seemed to surprise him, Claire wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Well, I can't remember the exact words... But that's the impression I got."

Looking around as if he didn't recognize his surroundings, Sawyer appeared to be lost in his own bewildering thoughts for a moment. "I'll be damned," he said under his breath. "That's the first I've heard of it. Tell you the truth, neither one of us have any idea how the hell to go about this thing. We don't really have any... _experience_, if you catch my drift," he said, looking pointedly at the baby.

Thinking that he meant _sexual _experience, Claire immediately became flustered. "Oh?" she said, in a too-loud voice. "I, um... I didn't realize that." Privately, she was astounded by this admission.

Sawyer, oblivious to her discomfort, went on explaining. "Well, I sorta had this one thing in high school... but nothin' ever came of it. And _Kate_..." he said, running his hand over his head distractedly. "This is the first time she's ever had to deal with _anything _like this. She's scared out of her goddamn mind."

Claire was baffled now. Her face flushed pink. "Really? That... _surprises _me." She bit her lip. "Um, do you think maybe we shouldn't be talking about this?" she said in a loud whisper, glancing toward the door that led to the main cabin.

He didn't seem fazed. "Don't make much difference now. Secret's out, ain't it?"

"I guess so," she faltered, clearly not wanting to pursue this conversation. She hurriedly tried to pull Aaron's clothes back on.

"I know I probably shouldn't ask, but I figure I don't have much dignity left to lose, so what the hell?" He sighed. "You think maybe you could... I don't know, talk to her? Give her some pointers, or somethin'?"

"_Pointers_?" Claire repeated, in shock.

"Just thought it might help her get a feel for what to expect, you know? I imagine she'd take it better comin' from you than she would from me."

For a few seconds, Claire was absolutely speechless with mortification. She stood up, clutching Aaron to her. "I, um... I don't really think I can do that." Her voice sounded high and frantic.

Sawyer watched her, bemused. "Look, it's not like I'm askin' you to let her _practice _or anything. I mean... You _could_, if you wanted to, but I can't blame you if you don't. Like I said, she don't really know what she's doin'. But to hear Charlie tell it, it all comes pretty natural to you. Especially now that you're used to it."

"Charlie _said that_? He actually _said that_ to you?" Claire stared at him in horror.

Looking at her like she was crazy, Sawyer said, "Don't have yourself a conniption, sweetheart. Hell, I'd take it as a compliment, if I were you. Because from what I saw earlier, I'm guessin' that he's not much help in that area."

She continued to stare at him, desperate to get out of this situation. Backing toward the exit, she said, "Look, I'm sorry, but I don't really think this conversation is appropriate. I consider you two friends, but.. there's a _line_, you know? Maybe you should think about talking to a therapist, or even... I don't know, renting a video, or something! That works for some people!" she offered helplessly. "I just don't think that I'm the person you should be asking for advice about... _what goes on in the bedroom_," she said, whispering the last words with an embarrassed expression.

Sawyer made an incredulous movement forward with his head, as if he couldn't quite believe his ears. "About _what_, now? Damn, girl... I didn't realize you had such a dirty mind!" He looked amused. "Can't say I don't respect it though."

Now she was bewildered. "Then... _what_? What were you talking about?"

"About Kate. You said she _told _you..." He paused, lowering his own voice. "That she was _pregnant_."

Claire's face changed as she absorbed this news slowly, from embarrassment to relief to sympathy to worry. She let the meaning sink in, his previous words rearranging themselves and finally making sense. "No," she said quietly. She sounded tired. "She didn't tell me."

They both looked at each other for a few more seconds. Sawyer seemed somewhat bitter, as if he'd now realized that her earlier encouraging remarks actually had nothing to do with reality. It was like gaining ground, and then having that ground collapse underneath him.

Before Claire could say anything else, they both felt the plane take a slight dip in altitude. Charlie appeared in the doorway. "Claire, we're getting ready to land. You'd better come back and buckle him down."

She nodded, glancing at Sawyer once more as if to apologize, although she didn't know what for. They left him alone there as the plane began to make its descent.

* * *

Once outside on the tarmac, the four of them stood in a group, awkwardly, all of them somewhat frazzled from their mysterious, almost coded conversations during the flight. It was gray and overcast, and there was a sharp wind blowing, so they tried to hurry their goodbyes.

"What are you gonna do now that we're here?" Charlie asked them.

"We'll figure something out," Kate said, trying to sound confident. "There's probably a bus station around here somewhere close."

"_Close _to her means under ten miles," Sawyer muttered.

"Are you sure you won't stay with us one more night?" Claire offered again. "We can get an extra room.. You won't have to sleep on the floor this time."

"We need to keep moving," Kate said. "But thank you so much for everything you've done - both of you. I know how dangerous it is for you to risk helping me like this, and it means so much to me. It really does." She swallowed hard against a lump in her throat.

Reaching out quickly, Claire hugged her. "Be careful," she whispered. Kate nodded over her shoulder, emotional.

Charlie was next, and his hug came with a piece of advice. "Don't forget what we talked about... The _names _and everything." She smiled, but didn't answer him.

"What, I don't get one?" Sawyer asked, looking at Claire. Seeming embarrassed, she offered him a quick hug which he made the most of. Kate looked away, rolling her eyes.

"Do the clothes fit all right?" Claire asked, glancing at the duffel bag he was carrying.

"Everything I tried on," he said. "Thanks for the silk shorts, peaches," he said with a wink.

"Oh," she said, uncomfortable. "Well, you gave me so much money, I figured I might as well get the good kind."

"I kinda like the idea of a girl puttin' so much thought into my underwear."

Kate cleared her throat, loudly. "I guess we'd better take off, so you can get Aaron off the plane. Maybe someday.. when he's old enough, you could tell him about me?"

Claire nodded, near tears. "Of course I will."

Charlie held out his hand to Sawyer, and reluctantly, Sawyer shook it. "Good luck, man," Charlie said.

"Yeah," he replied. "Back atcha. Hope your damn band wakes up someday," he added, glancing toward the plane. "On second thought, maybe you're better off without 'em."

Kate took Sawyer's sleeve and began to pull him away from the plane. "Goodbye," she said. "We'll never forget this." Charlie lifted his hand in a wave, and Claire's eyes followed them sadly for a second. Then the two of them stepped back up onto the plane. Kate knew that they would unload their things, and then probably go inside the nice warm airport for a coffee or a meal. She and Sawyer couldn't possibly follow. It would be too dangerous to go in there. Instead, they headed across the tarmac and began to traverse a wide, nearly empty parking lot that was the size of two football fields. The wind cut into them like knives. She had no idea where the hell they were going, or even which direction they should walk in. But she walked with a purpose, in case Claire or Charlie happened to look out at them.

When they were out of sight of the small plane, and the silence was getting unbearable, Kate couldn't hold back any longer.

"Why did you tell them?"

She had to raise her voice to make it audible over the wind, and she sounded angry and hurt.

Sawyer turned his head toward her slightly, but in a dismissive way. He didn't say anything, and he kept walking.

Kate stopped. "Sawyer! Answer me."

Finally, he turned to face her. They stood about ten feet away from each other.

"Why?" she repeated.

He stared at her for a few seconds, then gave a tired, bitter laugh. "Why not?"

The simplicity of the question wasn't what she was expecting, and she was taken aback. Her face registered uncertainty. How could that even be answered?

"Because if one of us is going to tell people, it should be _me_," she finally said.

"And why's that?" Sawyer said.

"You know why," she said, lowering her voice. "I'm the one who has to..." she stopped herself, not wanting to go into specifics. "I'm the one who gets to decide whether to tell people or not. Not you. And I don't want anybody to know."

"What difference does it make?"

"What _difference _does it make?" she repeated. "Well, for one thing, maybe I don't want people _congratulating _me on some stupid mistake I made!" She seemed to regret the words almost immediately, but she didn't say anything else. Neither did he. He looked at her for a second and then started walking again.

"We need to talk about this, Sawyer," she said, not moving.

Turning to give her an incredulous look, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard, he came back toward her and threw his duffel bag to the ground. It landed with a thud on the concrete in front of her. "You want to _talk about it_? All right, then, Freckles... Let's have ourselves a regular little pow-wow, right out here in the parking lot. It's about damn time. You want to go first?" She stared at him. "Well, what are you waitin' for, sweetheart? Start talkin!"

He could hear how crazy he sounded, but he couldn't help it. This whole situation had become so infuriating. He watched her face, the way her eyes now darted around, only just touching his own and then darting away again somewhere else. He saw the way her intention to communicate receded back in her features, and her expression became closed-off again, unreadable. He knew it wasn't just because he was being an ass, yelling at her. She probably wouldn't have said anything, no matter how he'd acted.

She looked at the ground now, her face sad. Neither one of them moved.

Sawyer finally reached down and angrily grabbed the duffel bag. "That's what I thought," he whispered harshly. She raised her eyes to him. He turned and started to walk off.

She watched him for a second, and then started to move slowly in the same direction.


	21. Chapter 21

**Note: This is the second chapter posted in this update, so make sure to read Chapter 20 first if you're just clicking back to the last chapter posted. ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 21**

The Greyhound to Duluth was overcrowded, too warm, and loud. It was hard to imagine that so many people _wanted _to go to Duluth at 10:00 in the morning, but yet here they were, overflowing nearly every seat and spilling into the aisle. When Kate had sent Sawyer into the bus station, she'd told him to get tickets for the furthest point north. If it wasn't close enough to the border, then they'd continue on by cab, or whatever else they could come up with. They were getting so close, and she didn't want to stop until they were over the line. The ticket agent told him that they were lucky enough (or possibly _unlucky _enough) to get the last two tickets.

So, now, they sat together on this miserable, stale-smelling bus, as close as they could get toward the back. Kate had the window seat, Sawyer the aisle. After their confrontation in the airport parking lot earlier, they both felt tense and a little strained in each other's presence, especially at such close range. Neither said much. To their relief, the noise of the bus didn't allow for a lot of talking anyway.

Because she was nervous about being around so many people, Kate kept her face turned toward the window. Sawyer looked out too, over her head, as the landscape gradually changed. The gently rolling plains turned into woods, and then the woods turned into _Northern _woods, mostly pine and spruce. The dark green needles were a welcome touch of color this late in the year. There was water everywhere, lakes and rivers and streams, all slate-colored under the overcast sky. The air seemed to be getting thinner, more pure. Sawyer cracked the window open at the top so they could breathe some of it, and the smell of cedar wafted in with the cold air. It pissed off the people behind them, but he couldn't have cared less.

Every once in awhile, Kate would glance at him, almost as if testing him to see where they stood. Somebody would have to say something eventually. Neither of them were experts at apologizing, so something else would have to suffice. She wanted to talk about what would happen when they got to Duluth, but until they'd bridged this hostility, there was no point in trying.

Before she could come up with anything, the bus slowed to a crawl and then stopped. Confused, Kate looked out the window. Just as she'd thought, they were in the middle of the highway. Throughout the bus, people began standing up, peering through the front window. A hush fell over them, and they whispered and muttered to each other.

Kate looked at Sawyer. They both stood up too, trying to get a glimpse of what had made the bus stop. There were too many people standing in front of Kate, and she wasn't tall enough to see over their heads.

Sawyer could, however. He could make out flashing red and blue lights, highway patrolmen, and a roadblock.

"Can you see anything?" she asked.

"Not really," he lied. "Might be road construction."

But she didn't believe it for a second. She could feel the tense, nervous air of anticipation that had come over the other passengers like a virus. Judging by the way human nature usually operated, it meant trouble.

Sawyer sat back down. She followed suit. There was a funny look on his face, and it scared her. "What is it?"

He looked at her. In a quiet voice, he told her to hand him her backpack. While she watched with growing worry, he managed to conduct a quick, covert transfer of one of the handguns from her bag to an inner pocket of his coat. She glanced around them to make sure nobody had noticed, but everyone's attention was directed toward the front of the bus. "What are you doing?" she hissed, not wanting to hear the answer.

The murmuring of the passengers suddenly became silent, and everybody sat back down in their seats. A highway patrolman had climbed on board. He consulted with the driver in whispers, leaning over with one black-gloved hand balanced on the back of the partition.

Kate had frozen. She seemed to shrink into her seat, like she was trying to disappear into the fabric. She turned her head away, her eyes desperate and hunted. Her breath came fast but quietly. Sawyer was conscious of her chest rising and falling, and the wildly throbbing pulse in her throat. He grabbed her wrist, with the sudden fear that she would try to bolt. Wrapping his fingers all the way around it, he held onto her tightly, his own knuckles turning white. His other hand rested across his midsection, within easy access of the gun.

The highway patrolman cleared his throat and straightened up. Taking a few steps down the aisle, he rested his hands on the seat backs on either side of him. "Folks!" he said. "We've got a little bit of a situation up here, involving some SUVs. Just as soon as we get the rest of the wreckage cleared off the road, we'll let you be on your way. Shouldn't take more than ten minutes, if you'll just be patient." Tipping his hat, he retreated and climbed off the bus.

For a second, neither of them moved. Kate still breathed hard. Sawyer looked down at her hand, which was turning purple. He was cutting off her circulation. He forced himself to let go of her wrist. They sat there in silence. The fight they'd had earlier seemed trivial and stupid now. After all, they had much bigger problems to worry about, didn't they? This was a nice little reminder of the central fact they kept forgetting.

After what seemed like an hour, the bus finally began to inch forward again. Kate took a deep breath and let it out, seeming to relax a little as the pent-up air was released from her lungs. As the shattered glass and only mildly banged-up vehicles of the accident scene passed by outside the window, she glanced at them, and then away. "Doesn't look like it was very serious," she said, and her voice wavered slightly despite her effort to sound casual.

Sawyer put his arm around her. She let him pull her against him.

For now at least, they were okay again.

* * *

After lunch at a small cafe near the bus stop in Duluth, Kate located an Army/Navy surplus store just down the street. She seemed pleased, and said that this was exactly what she'd hoped to find. Sawyer held the door open for her, confused. "Thinkin' about joinin' up, Freckles?" he asked. She smiled, but didn't answer.

He let her do most of the shopping, since he didn't really know what they were here for, anyway. He ambled down the aisles, watching Kate sift through boxes of pocket knives, canteens, compasses, Zippo lighters, and similar materials. She seemed to feel completely at home here, and to know exactly what she was looking for.

They browsed through the store longer than they needed to, having fun and goofing around. Sawyer tried on a faded green army jacket that he thought he looked good in, but he didn't get much support from Kate. She said he wasn't the army type. Then she put on a helmet with a built-in flashlight and nearly blinded him. He placed nipple rings and a purple crotch guard on a male mannequin. They pondered over some of the stranger items, like an inflatable toilet that actually flushed, and a hemorrhoid cream whose label specified it could also be used as toothpaste, in an emergency. "What the hell kind of emergency would that be?" Sawyer wanted to know. Using some toy soldiers, they created a very believable orgy diorama. Kate was afraid she would wet her pants if she didn't stop laughing.

Finally, she seemed to come to her senses and notice that they were spending too much time here. She dragged Sawyer to the check-out counter, adding some maps and brochures to her purchases. He grudgingly paid, and they left.

Now the object was to head north again. They considered renting a car, but all the paperwork and background checks would make it too risky. Better to call a cab company that handled longer-distance travel. They both huddled in a phone booth against the cold, going down the list of numbers. They were in luck that the one business that would agree to drive as far as the Canadian border wasn't overbooked today. Kate ordered the cab, and it arrived in less than ten minutes.

On the way north, she alternately studied the maps and brochures and made innocent small talk with the cab driver. Sawyer was amazed at how she could keep him from getting a word in edgewise. She talked all about how they'd come up from Green Bay to do some hiking and fishing, and how they'd wanted to come in the summer, but her husband could only get time off in the fall, since he'd just recently switched jobs and the manager was sort of a you-know-what, and he didn't want to show favoritism to new employees over the old ones. Which was ridiculous, because everyone deserved time off in the summer. Fishing was best in the summer. Her husband liked to fish, but she could honestly do without it. She thought there was nothing more disgusting than a dead fish, and she'd be just as happy walking along the lake shore, looking for arrowheads or maybe even some pretty pebbles to line the garden with at home. She'd only started a garden last year, because her mother-in-law had one and she wanted to show her that she could do it, but so far it hadn't gone so well. Her tomatoes had turned out brown instead of red. Did the cabdriver's wife have a garden? How did her tomatoes do?

Sawyer let her go on, enjoying the steady flow of her complete nonsense. He could have done this just as easily - he was used to telling people lies and making sure they believed them. But she didn't seem to need much help. He only hoped the guy wouldn't ask him about fishing. He didn't know shit about fishing.

He realized he must have zoned out at the point where Kate had given the specific directions, because after an hour and a half, when the cabdriver let them out at the end of a rutted road in the woods, he didn't have a clue where they were, and it was starting to get dark. He paid the fare and grabbed their stuff from the back, then they stood and watched as the taxi pulled away. Kate waved after her new friend.

Her fake smile faded as the cab passed out of view.

Sawyer looked at her. "You need a drink of water after all that?"

She sighed. "I wanted to keep him distracted."

She hoisted her bag onto her back and started walking into the woods.

"Where are we?"

"You'll see."

He followed her, annoyed. "There a reason you don't want to tell me?"

"If I tell you now, that's just a longer interval that I'll have to listen to you complain about it. You'll find out in a minute."

It continued to get darker, and she pulled out the newly-purchased flashlight and switched it on. After another few minutes of walking, they came upon a small cluster of buildings. Sawyer stopped. "All right, Nancy Drew. I played your little mystery game. Now tell me where the hell we're at."

She smiled. "It's a campsite. With a canoe rental. Summer only."

"So?"

"So... we need a canoe. And we're gonna take one."

He didn't like the sound of this. At all. She started to walk toward a locked shed, and he trudged after her, feeling like he'd been tricked. "And why, might I ask, do we need a _canoe_?"

"Because we need to cross into Canada, remember?" she said slowly, like he was retarded. "And it's the safest way to do it. These are border waters, and they aren't patrolled. At least not very well."

He leaned his head back, wearily. "Of course," he said under his breath, with sarcasm. Kate shone the flashlight around the shed, examining it to see how it was secured.

"Here's a thought, though, sweetheart. Why don't we just _walk _over?"

"Sure," she said, humoring him. "And then you can explain to the border guards why you're taking two handguns into Canada."

He gave an amused huff. "_Handguns_? Think they might be a little more concerned about the _fugitive _I'm totin' around with me."

"Funny," Kate said dryly, raising her eyebrows. She'd located the padlock. Digging in the front of her backpack, she pulled out the pocketknife.

Sawyer leaned against the shed, giving in to the plan. "You want me to pick the lock?"

"I think I got it," she said. "Hold the flashlight, though."

He pointed the beam while she dropped to her knees and worked at the padlock. From where he leaned, her face was at the same level as his zipper. "While you're down there..." he suggested.

"Shut up," she said, grinning.

With a clicking sound, the padlock popped open. They wedged the double doors back. Inside were rows of canoes, in a few different sizes. They chose a larger one, so that it wouldn't be swamped by the weight of their luggage.

After they'd pulled it out, Sawyer glanced around, aiming the flashlight in a wide arc.

"Freckles, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I don't see no water around here anywhere."

She was re-closing and fastening the doors of the shed. "I know which way it is. We need to portage first."

"I told you to go, back at that gas station."

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "_Portage _means to _hike_.. with the canoe."

"I _know that_," he said.

Using the compass, they determined where north was, and with the canoe lifted above their heads, began walking. Sawyer held the flashlight with one hand and the canoe with the other, while Kate walked in front to maneuver them through the trees. The beam of the flashlight splayed out in front of her, but it kept disappearing. "Stop shining that on my ass!" she warned. It reappeared, and then disappeared a few seconds later. "_Sawyer_!"

The trees soon opened up onto a pebbly beach, and the water stretched out before them. There was no moon, so the lake appeared to be black. Soft waves lapped at the shore, but the water was for the most part calm and flat. They dragged the canoe to the edge. "Have you ever done this before?" Kate asked.

"Why?" he asked, dodging the question.

"Because the person with the most weight needs to sit in the back. But that also means you have to steer. Think you can handle it?"

"Well, it turns out you're in luck, Sassafras... I just renewed my canoe license last spring."

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Then get in."

They got their bags situated and pushed off from the shore, managing to keep their feet relatively dry. Kate removed the oars from the oarlocks and handed Sawyer one. He dunked it in the water, pretending this was familiar.

"We need to stay left, along the shoreline." Kate paused, as they continued to be propelled right. "Sawyer.. _Left_."

"Gotcha," he said, switching the paddle to the other side. There. So _that _was how it worked.

"I chose this spot from the map because we won't need to go out in open water," she explained. "We just have to stay on the western shoreline, and then by morning we should be in Ontario."

"Ontario," he repeated, the word feeling strange in his mouth. So they were really leaving the States behind them now. A whole segment of their journey was over. With a slight twinge of regret, he wondered if he would ever see the South again. But he pushed the thought away, focusing on what was ahead of them.

"So," she asked after a few seconds. "Tell me the truth. _Have _you ever done this before?"

"'Fraid I got kicked out of the Boy Scouts before the big campin' trip. Just missed it by a hair."

"What'd you get kicked out for?"

"I managed to get every other kid in the troop to cough up ten bucks. Told 'em I got these special deals through my uncle, and that I could get us a real, live prostitute if everyone pitched in." Sawyer smiled at the memory. "Made a hundred and thirty bucks off that."

Kate shook her head, incredulously. "You ran a _con _on your Boy Scout troop?" She was smiling, however.

"You gotta start with the small stuff," he said, proudly.

They were quiet for awhile. The rhythmic splash of the oars in the water, and the occasional hollow _thunk _as one hit the canoe, caused a peaceful lull. It was still frigidly cold, but the wind had died down to just a quiet breeze that made the pine needles whisper, and they were both well-wrapped in layers and heavy coats, so the temperature didn't bother them much. The wooded shore rose up to the left of them, black and looming. Despite the darkness of the evening, there was a faint, ghostly light out on the water that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, almost rising up out of the lake itself. They hardly needed the flashlight to guide them.

Kate seemed to want to go fast, so he did his best to oblige her, for now. The canoe glided along at a swift pace for almost an hour, and though the exercise felt nice, Sawyer soon felt his back begin to ache. He knew that Kate's must be hurting too, but she didn't slow down.

"You realize that in the last three days, we've been on a train, a plane, a bus, and now a damn canoe?" he mused aloud. "What the hell you want to try next? A submarine?"

"Maybe," she said jokingly.

"We haven't slept in an actual bed since that place back in Iowa."

"I know." She sighed. "Once we get into Canada, we can relax for a few days... stay in the same place. We need to get in contact with your aunt anyway, and find out exactly where it is we're going. I'll feel better with specific directions." She sounded out of breath.

"Why are you goin' so fast?"

She looked back at him, laughing a little. "Are you kidding me? Do I really need to answer that?" She didn't slacken her pace, and he could see her straining. He knew she was afraid they wouldn't make it as far as they needed to that night, and that they might be tracked or caught when it got light. But he hated to watch her wear herself out like this. It wasn't good for her.

Suddenly, it occurred to him exactly how little he'd been contributing to this entire godforsaken trip. He was practically letting Kate handle everything. She chose the directions and studied the maps, she decided on the means of travel, she bought what they needed, she figured out all the details and strategized how they would deal with potential crises. She even did most of the worrying on her own. What the hell had he done to help out, other than follow her directions? He was pretty much trailing around after her like she was his damn tour guide. It made him disgusted with himself. It had been so easy to just sit back and let her take charge that he'd never considered whether he _should, _or whether it was what she really wanted. Maybe she just did it because she didn't think he'd be any good at this stuff. But how could she possibly know, when she'd never witnessed him doing anything?

Well, it was going to change, starting right now. Canada was a good chance to turn over a new leaf.

Reaching up, he grabbed the oar and pulled it out of her grip.

She looked back, surprised. "What are you doing?"

"Time for a breather," he said.

"No, it's not. We have to keep moving." He didn't answer. "Sawyer, give me the oar back." She lunged for it, and he held it out of her reach. The canoe rocked dangerously, and some water splashed over the side.

"I don't think you want to do that," he said teasingly.

She looked annoyed. "I don't need a break."

"Beg to differ with you, there, darlin'. How 'bout we just sit here for a spell and look at the stars?"

"It's cloudy," she pointed out.

"Well, _pretend_, then." When she still didn't seem convinced, he said, "Look, if we don't make it to the little rendezvous-point you got your heart set on by the time it's light, we can go off in the woods a ways and camp till tomorrow night. There's enough food left over from the gas station to last for one day. I can even rig up a little shelter with the canoe."

She studied him carefully, seeming a bit impressed. Although she was curious as to what this was all about, she could tell he wasn't going to give the oar back until he was good and ready. Giving up, she carefully maneuvered herself from the front seat to the middle one, so that she could lean back against his knees.

Looking up at the completely invisible stars, she said sarcastically, "It's _beautiful_."

"Ain't it, though?" Sawyer asked. "There's the Big Dipper," he said pointing.

"Wrong," she said, smiling. Taking his arm, she moved it a few inches to the left. "That's where it _would _be."

He almost made a smart-ass reply, but he was suddenly distracted by the warm weight of her body leaning back against him. He put his arms around her from behind and burrowed his face under the collar of her coat in order to press his lips to her neck. They were quiet for a few seconds.

"I know what you're thinking," Kate said. "And the answer is no."

"Oh, really," he said in a smug tone. "And what's the question?"

"The question is whether or not it would be possible to have sex in this thing."

He shook his head. "You're a damn psychic, Freckles."

The silence once the canoe was stopped was almost total. Other than the faint breeze and the waves hitting the shore nearby, the only sound was their own breathing. A loon cried out, with its distinctive eerie laugh. Kate shivered.

"Wanna tell ghost stories?" Sawyer said, joking.

"There _was _a story about this lake in one of those brochures I was looking at earlier. It wasn't really a ghost story, though. It was just sad."

"Let's hear it," he said, glad that she was actually agreeing to take a break from rowing.

"I'm not sure if I can remember all the details. But the gist of the story was that there was this Indian maiden, a Chippewa..."

Sawyer interrupted her. "There's _always _gotta be an Indian maiden in these things, doesn't there?"

"Do you want to hear it or not?"

He shut up.

"So, anyway. Sometime in the 1600s, her tribe went on this hunting expedition on a river they'd never been to before, because the game was getting scarce around here. And while they were there, they ran into a couple of French fur trappers. Of course fighting broke out, because that's what men are _like_, and only one of the trappers lived. So they took him back as their prisoner, and as you can imagine, one thing led to another, and the girl ended up falling in love with him. And he fell in love with her too. The only _problem _was... she was already pledged to marry this medicine man from a neighboring tribe. She'd been intended for him since she was born. It was her destiny."

Sawyer listened to Kate talk, mesmerized not by the words she was saying, but by the sound of her voice. In this silent, empty night, her voice was beautiful. He'd never paid particular attention to its exact cadences before, but he now realized it was perfect. It was the most perfect speaking voice of any woman he'd ever known. It wasn't too high, or too low, or even too smooth. It was like music.

She continued. "So they came up with this big plan to run away together, and go back to France to live, where nobody would ever bother them. On the night they were supposed to sneak away, she broke him out of his bonds, and they took off and made it to this high cliff overlooking the lake. I think it was somewhere near that campsite we were at earlier. But, it turned out somebody must have overheard their plans, because when they got up there, they saw torches coming from every direction, and they realized they'd been caught. So, since they knew he would be killed, and she would be forced to marry someone she barely knew, they just decided... To hell with it. And they jumped."

Sawyer was quiet. The canoe rose and fell almost imperceptibly with the gentle movement of the water. "That's it?"

"Not quite. The brochure said that when the tribe went down there the next morning, they couldn't find their bodies. It was a pretty shallow cove, so it should have been easy. But... they never did find them. So," she sighed. "Some people think that they got away, after all. They could have climbed out somewhere else and gone back to France, like they'd planned. Even though it's more likely that they drowned," she added. The loon cried out again, farther away this time. Another one answered it, from the opposite shore.

"What do _you _think happened to 'em?" he asked. For some reason, he was intensely curious about her answer. It seemed like the most important thing in the world, for him to hear it. That was ridiculous, of course. But he waited almost nervously while she thought about it, holding his breath.

Finally she answered him, in a whisper. "I think they made it."

He felt something overpowering flood through him, an emotion so strong it almost made him dizzy, and he rested his forehead against the top of her shoulder. It scared the hell out of him, how she could have this effect. It was some kind of witchcraft. There was no other explanation. This just wasn't _natural _for him. It made him uncomfortable to dwell on it.

In order to distract himself, he suddenly said, "Shh! You hear that?"

She tensed, listening. "That scratching noise? What is it?"

He was quiet. The faint scratching, like rats in an attic, grew louder. It seemed to be coming from underneath them.

"Uh-oh. Looks like Romeo and Pocahontas musta drowned after all. Now they want in our canoe."

"Are you doing that, Sawyer?"

He lifted his hands, showing her both of them. The spooky, sinister noise continued.

"Sounds like they ain't gonna take no for an answer. Think we oughtta give 'em a ride?"

Kate swallowed, anxiously. "You're _really _not doing that?"

Sawyer was amused to see that she actually looked a little scared. He hadn't expected it. With a cocky smile, he gave up the charade, reaching for the piece of gravel he'd been scraping around with his shoe. He showed it to her.

"You _bastard_," she said, punching him in the shoulder, hard.

"Hey, now!" he said, raising his hand to defend himself.

"Can't you ever let us have a _nice _moment?" she asked, trying not to laugh.

"Just consider that payback for the Driveshaft concert," he drawled. "Told you it'd come back around."

Closing her eyes, she turned to face forward again and scooted back up into the first seat. "Would you please give me the oar back now?" She sounded dramatically weary.

"Only if you promise you won't beat me with it," he said.

"I promise." She was on the verge of losing her patience.

"You got your fingers crossed?"

"Sawyer!"

He smiled and started to pass the oar back to her, but then stopped. "Look at that," he told her.

"You really think I'm gonna fall for that again?"

He rolled his eyes. "I ain't responsible for this one, sweet cheeks." He jerked the paddle of the oar in the direction of the sky. "Look up." She finally did.

It was snowing.

The big, lacy flakes drifted down slowly at first, then faster and faster as more of them followed. The air became thick with them. They made a tiny hissing sound as they hit the water and dissolved. The quiet was now even more profound, with that particular effect that snow has in muffling all other noises. They sat and watched it.

"This is good," Kate said. "It'll cover up our tracks, back in the woods."

Sawyer turned to watch her. He thought of how she'd looked forward to the first snowfall at the house in Tennessee, and how she hadn't gotten to see it. Now that there was real snow, all she could think of was that it would help them keep running. It made him sad.

Poking her gently in the arm with the oar, he asked, "You ready?"

She reached out and took it. "Yeah." Turning to give him an appreciative smile, she said, "Thanks for the break."

He vowed to himself that he would make her take another one in an hour or so. From now on, he would take over the reins more often on this trip. Canada was going to be different. Nothing from before counted. Their lives were going to start over in Canada. And he would show her that he could do better. If he could just convince her to let him.

Kate put her oar back into the water. He did the same, using all his strength to propel them forward so that she could save her own. The canoe glided along the shoreline as the snow continued to fall.


	22. Chapter 22

I have to apologize in advance for the absolutely INSANE length of this chapter. I'm pretty sure it's the longest one I've written, in either fic. It builds to such a specific point, though, that I couldn't figure out where to divide it. So consider yourselves warned! ;)

Oh, and **spinx **- you asked how I come up with the dialogue. I don't know how to answer that, really. I've always a weird knack for getting down people's speech patterns and rhythms, and since I was little, I've been able to do impressions of just about anyone. With writing it's just a matter of transcribing it correctly. As for inventing _what _they say, I don't know how that works. I just turn on the TV in my head and watch what happens on it. Lol.

* * *

**Chapter 22**

An irritating noise was invading Sawyer's sleep. He pulled the blanket over his head, but the sound didn't cease. "You hear that?" he muttered. There was no answer, and he finally opened his eyes to see that the spot next to him was empty. Confused, he raised up and looked around the room. The fire had died down to its embers, but the small kerosene heater still glowed. The place was dark, even in the early afternoon, thanks to the mortared logs that formed the walls and the deep brown of the pine floor.

The sound came again, from the window at the back. He looked toward it.

Kate was outside, tapping on the glass. When she'd got his attention, she made a gesture for him to join her, and then disappeared again.

Blinking heavily to clear his vision, he dragged himself out of bed and pulled his pants on. Christ, it was cold in here. Although, considering the alternative, they were lucky just to be sleeping inside. They hadn't ended up camping in the woods after all, to their surprise. At the first sign of dawn, they'd spotted a dock and a path leading up to a small cluster of log cabin-style dwellings, and they'd paddled up and approached with caution. The placard informed them that the lodgings were free and open to hikers and canoeists in the off-season, although donations in either Canadian or American money were "gratefully accepted," and could be deposited in a special box conveniently built for that purpose. They could go to hell, Sawyer thought. He'd be damned if he was going to pay for something if nobody was there to make him.

After pulling on his shoes and his coat, he stepped outside onto the wide planks of the porch. Kate was nowhere in sight. The sun was out now, and the brightness against the six inches of fallen snow nearly blinded him. He squinted and shielded his eyes with his hand, stepping down off the porch. "Kate!" he hollered, annoyed. "Where'd you go?"

He walked a few paces away from the cabin, looking around. The snow crunched under his shoes. Down the steep path, he could see the lake sparkling through the gaps in the pines. The hill behind the cabin rose up imposingly, casting a shadow before it. She couldn't have climbed up there in such a short amount of time. But he couldn't see her anywhere on this side. So where the hell was she? He felt a brief flicker of worry.

Suddenly, he spotted a blur of motion coming from around the edge of the porch, but before he could turn his head all the way to the side, something plowed into him with a force that knocked him down. He landed on his back with a dull thud, the snow cushioning his fall.

Opening his eyes and looking up, he saw Kate leaning over him, her loose hair blocking the direct glare of the sun. His first instinct was to be pissed, but one look at her face made his words die in his throat. Her eyes shone with the fun of what she'd just accomplished, and her cheeks were a bright, glowing pink from the cold. "Morning," she said, smiling down at him.

With a slightly annoyed scoff, he raised his head up a little and then let it fall back again. "It's _afternoon_," he told her. He could feel snow seeping into his hair.

Ignoring his comment, she said, "How can you sleep through this? As soon as I saw the sun was shining, I had to get outside."

It occurred to him now, with a full sense of the absurdity of it, that she'd lured him out here... _to play_. It was the last thing in the world he would have expected of her, but it was clearly the case. She stared down at him with a barely subdued excitement that he almost never saw in her. She was also decked out in full snow-day regalia, with matching hat, scarf, and gloves in a pale blue color with white trim, which he assumed Claire must have bought, because it was like nothing he'd ever seen Kate choose for herself. She looked like she belonged in an Old Navy commercial, he thought with amusement.

"What's so funny?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear so that it wouldn't tickle his face.

"_You _are," he said. "How old are you again, Freckles?"

She smiled. "What does that have to do with anything?" Still perched on top of him, she glanced around. "Look at this place. Isn't it beautiful?" In a wistful voice, she added, "It kind of reminds me of home."

Confused, he took in the steep hills and the woods and the lake. "How the hell does this place remind you of _Iowa_?"

She looked back down at him, and now the flush on her cheeks turned a shade darker. "Oh, I meant..." she stammered. "I meant your house, actually. I don't know why I called it that." She seemed embarrassed.

He didn't have any idea how to respond to this. He was terrified of getting bogged down in something sappy or ridiculous, and he sidled away from the possibility with dread. Sarcasm wouldn't work either. Instead of trying to find words, he grabbed her coat collar with both hands and pulled her down to kiss her. At least that felt natural.

Her lips were cold as his mouth covered hers, and she kept her teeth together, seemingly going for something chaste here. But he wasn't having it. He forced his tongue past the barrier, scraping his chin against hers. She breathed in sharply through her nose, kissing him back with more energy now, planting her palms on the ground above his head to keep her balance. When she was fully distracted, he reached up and shoved a handful of snow down the back of her neck. She shrieked delightedly against his mouth, pulling away. He held onto her, and they kicked and scuffled for a moment, wrestling in the snow. They rolled each other over again and again, playfully battling for the top position until they finally called a truce and collapsed, exhausted, next to each other.

After a few seconds, Kate turned her head to the side to look at Sawyer, trying to catch her breath. "You still think we should stay here for a few days?"

"That's the plan. Hell, after the week we've had, don't you think we deserve a little layover somewhere?"

"I guess so," she said softly, as if that was an understatement.

He turned his head to watch her before he spoke. "You feel all right here?"

She thought about it. "I really do. It's funny... I know we're not that much farther north than where we were yesterday, but it just _feels _like we are. Something about being in another country, I guess. It always makes me feel safer." Her voice sounded unusually peaceful to him. It almost made him forget that he was freezing his ass off out here.

"Guess I'll call Meg to figure out where it is we're supposed to be goin'. Knowing her, she won't even remember that she told you about the place."

"She'll remember." Kate sounded positive. After a minute, she squinted up at the brilliant blue of the sky. "Want to make snow angels before we go in?"

He looked at her like she was crazy. "_What_?"

"It's easy," she told him, smiling. "You just flap your arms up and down in the snow, and then spread your legs out a few times."

Not even considering trying something so absurd, he pulled himself off the ground and stood up, looking back down at her with his trademark smirk. "You want to spread your legs, sweetheart, then maybe we oughtta go back inside."

She sighed, closing her eyes briefly. "Someday I'm gonna find a topic that you won't be able to turn into something sexual."

"Good luck with that," he said, raising his eyebrows as if he didn't have much confidence in the project.

After Kate had flattened the snow by splaying out her arms and legs, she sat up and raised her hands to him. "Okay, help me up so I don't ruin it."

He grasped her arms and pulled her up towards him, brushing the snow off her back and then feeling like an idiot for doing so. She didn't seem to notice, to his relief.

"See?" she said, turning and looking down at the imprint in the snow.

He stared at it. It did look a little bit like an angel, with wings and a gown, but he still thought this was about the stupidest thing he'd ever been a part of. How did people come up with shit like this?

Pretending to examine it speculatively, he angled his head back and muttered, "It's missin' something."

Kate glanced up at him. "Oh, yeah? What?"

She crossed her arms, watching curiously and a bit suspiciously as he searched around on the ground. When he'd located a stick, he circled across to the other side of the angel. He kneeled down, and with hilarious attention to detail, very carefully drew in the snow two perfect horns on the top of the angel's head. Kate shook her head slowly, trying not to laugh.

"There," he said, looking up at her with amused defiance. "Angel ain't good for nothin' without a little bit of devil in it."

There was the faintest flicker of a shadow across Kate's face, but she continued to smile at him. "You think so?"

"I _know _so," he said, giving her a meaningful look. "You gonna deny it?"

He actually wanted to hear her answer this silly question, for some reason, but she looked down toward the lake, evading it. "I have an idea," she finally said, turning back to him with a hint of mischief in her expression. She reached up and unwound her scarf from her neck, then walked toward him with it. "Let's play hide and seek," she said, stepping behind him where he still kneeled in the snow and quickly wrapping the scarf around his eyes, tying it behind his head. It was still warm from her skin, so he didn't jump to push it away.

"I sure as hell hope that's code for somethin', sugar plum," he said in a suggestive, hopeful voice, trying to influence her.

She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind. "It means I'm going to hide, and I want you to come and find me. After that..." she said. "We'll see what happens."

"And exactly how am I supposed to find anything when I don't know my way around this place?"

"Well," Kate said, pretending to be thoughtful. "Since you're not much of a tracker, let me give you a hint." Leaning closer to his ear, she whispered, with infinite amusement, "Try following my footprints."

He ducked his head a little, smiling with a hint of sarcasm. "You know, you're damn lucky I'm willin' to put up with such a smart-ass."

"Give me thirty seconds at least," Kate said, straightening up with her hands still on his shoulders. "And don't peek!"

He heard her moving away, and then the receding crunch of her steps in the snow, but with the echo from the hill, it was difficult to tell which direction she was moving in. He waited a bit, thankful that there was no one around to see him sitting there with a girl's fuzzy blue scarf around his head. When only about ten seconds had elapsed, he yanked the ridiculous thing from his eyes and stood up. Scanning the ground, he tried to locate her prints to see which direction she'd gone in. But the marks of her shoes were _everywhere_. It looked like she'd already covered everything within a square mile radius, probably before he even woke up.

"_Son of a...," _he muttered, spinning in a circle. He had a strong urge to just go back inside - get back into the relatively warm bed, maybe, or hop in the shower. He wondered how long it would take her to give up and come back, and how pissed-off she would be. It was kind of funny to think about. But her veiled promise of some sort of reward for finding her was a stronger motivation. And besides that, he didn't think he had it in him to be such an ass as to leave her out here waiting for him somewhere. It was so rare these days that she wanted to do anything like this, that she stopped looking over her shoulder long enough to let her defenses down and relax. He figured he might as well take advantage of it before things returned to their inevitable state of stress and tension.

He stuffed the scarf into his coat pocket, already intending to make his _own _use of it later. Choosing at random one set of her footprints that led into the woods, he trudged off, following them.

* * *

It was over an hour after finding her that he finally convinced her to go back inside. They stayed in the woods and along the lake shore for the greater part of that time, and he was amazed by how many things she could find to entertain herself out here. Sawyer knew that she was one of those outdoorsy freaks, but it had been a long time since they'd been in the jungle together, and the fact had slipped his mind. Back in Tennessee, he supposed she hadn't felt safe enough to go tramping around in the mountains. This place was much more isolated.

Just for the hell of it, she jumped onto his back on the return walk through the woods to the cabin. It made things seem quieter, with only the sound of one set of footsteps crunching in the snow. "I think I saw some packages of hot cocoa in the cabinet this morning," she said close to his ear.

"Mmm, powdered chocolate and tap water... Don't make me drool, now, Freckles."

"Well, it's better than nothing," she insisted. After a pause, she asked. "Am I too heavy?"

"Can't tell ya. My arms are numb. Guess if I drop you, we'll know the answer, won't we?" The truth was, of course, that she barely weighed anything at all, even with all the winter clothes she was wearing. She felt like a slightly-heavier-than-usual backpack, and she fit against him with the same comfortable ease. That would all change soon, though, wouldn't it? He pushed the thought away quickly. He'd decided to try using her tactic of denial and avoidance, and it seemed to be working all right, for now at least.

He felt her laugh slightly. Her breath was warm against the side of his head, and he could tell she was getting ready to say something else.

"Howdy, folks!"

Sawyer froze in his tracks, and he felt Kate immediately go rigid against him. All the restfulness that she'd allowed to seep into her body since early this morning vanished in an instant. He relaxed his grip on her legs and she slowly slid down his back and landed on her feet, keeping one hand on his arm as they both stared at the man walking toward them.

"Don't usually see anybody else out here, this time of year. Took me by surprise when I noticed your canoe down at the dock. At least I assume it's yours?"

Sawyer waited for Kate to jump in with their story, but to his surprise, she didn't say anything. He went ahead and answered, in a less-than-friendly tone. "Yeah," he said. "It's ours."

The guy stopped just in front of them, holding out his hand. "Paul Brennon," he said, smiling. Reluctantly, Sawyer shook with him. He waited a second for Kate to introduce them, since this was usually her domain, but she still remained quiet. She seemed oddly shell-shocked. He decided to go ahead with it himself. "Joel Gray," he said. "And this is..."

"Abby," she finally supplied, holding out her hand as if forcing herself. "Abby Gray." Her voice sounded a little hollow, like it came from a great distance.

"Nice to meet you two," Paul said, with an overabundance of sincerity. He was a fresh-faced, woodsy looking man, with finely chiseled features, a strong jaw line, and corn silk yellow hair. He appeared to be around thirty, tall and brawny, like a lumberjack. With red, ruddy cheeks and a perfect winter tan, he looked like the kind of guy who slept under the stars every night and whittled his own furniture. Sawyer hated him already.

"I've got to tell you," Paul continued, "It sure is nice to see people out enjoying the scenery up here in the winter months. Everybody thinks that spring and summer are the only times to visit, but they just don't know what they're missing out on, huh?"

"It's a damn shame," Sawyer said, with thinly veiled sarcasm.

"I live for this time of year, personally. Nothing like that cold, clean air in your lungs to put you back in touch with what matters. I try to come up here every winter and stay for a few weeks. Of course it helps that I can take my work with me. I'm an architect, based out of Lansing." He paused, still genial and curious. "So what brings you two all the way out here after a snowfall? You from around these parts?"

Sawyer glanced at Kate, wondering if she expected him to handle this one. He knew that he could, but he also thought it might make her nervous. He saw her take a deep breath and collect herself, getting back in stride with what had become the common course of their lives. To his relief, she explained, using a polite, faux-shy voice, that she was a law student at the University of Oregon specializing in natural resource law, getting ready to take the bar exam soon, and that Joel's family owned a chain of gas stations along the Northwest Coast... and that since he was about to become a full partner in the business, and she would hopefully be practicing law in the near future, they were enjoying this one last secluded getaway before they became too busy to manage the time for it. They had a particular fondness for this area because it was where her, Abby's, family used to vacation when she was a kid. Her parents were English professors, retired now, of course. They were originally from Ontario.

Paul listened to all this with good-natured attention, interjecting with questions at the right times. Sawyer went from being on guard and tense to being a tad bored. This guy obviously didn't pose any threat. So why was she wasting so much time on the details?

When the introductions were drawing to their inevitable close, Paul told them that he'd be in the cabin down on the end, near the generator station, if they needed anything. Kate managed a feeble thanks, and Sawyer tried not to look too impatient.

"Great. Well, enjoy your stay." Paul said with a tone of finality, moving off in the direction they'd come from. "Maybe I'll catch you later!"

"Lookin' forward to it," Sawyer muttered under his breath. He waited for Kate to chastise him for his rudeness, but she was standing perfectly still, watching the man walk away with a strange, distant expression on her face.

When he was positive Paul was out of earshot, Sawyer said, "So? What'd you think about the name?"

For a second, she acted like she didn't hear him. When she finally turned her head, it was with an effort to focus her attention. "The name?"

"_Our _name, if you want to get specific. Gray. I thought it was _fitting_." He emphasized the last word with a meaningful, almost cocky, tilt of his head.

Kate smiled a little, a tight, forced smile that didn't reach her eyes. She understood his reference, but she wasn't in the mood to reminisce. "Works for me," she said.

Sawyer examined her for a few seconds, curiously. He could tell she was a little unnerved by the run-in with a stranger, but he didn't really see why, other than that it destroyed their illusion of complete solitude here. He made his voice light, as if he'd discovered something funny. "I know what's botherin' you. You're just pissed that you didn't get to call me _Jack _again, aren't you?"

It worked. Now she gave him a genuine smile of amusement, one that transformed her face and seemed to distract her from whatever she'd just been thinking about. She grabbed his sleeve. "Come on," she said, turning to move again in the direction of the cabin.

As they started to walk off, he couldn't resist adding, "That wasn't exactly a _no_, now, was it?"

* * *

For most of that evening and into early the next afternoon, they didn't move far from the bed. It wasn't just a matter of catching up on lost sex (although that was a factor as well), but in the small one-room cabin, the bed was the focal point and the warmest spot in the place. They left it for essentials - to get food from the freezers and vending machines in the generator station, and to shower - but they always returned to it quickly. There was no television or radio in the room, so there weren't any distractions, other than a phone. Sawyer called his aunt and left a series of increasingly irritated messages on her voice mail, but she still hadn't answered or returned the calls yet. So in the meantime, they waited, naked and comfortable and lazy in the too-small bed that forced them close against each other.

It was almost 1:00. Kate stretched a little, and then propped herself up on one elbow. Her hair felt tangled and matted, and she brushed it out of her face. "You asleep?"

Sawyer kept his eyes closed. "Yeah."

She smiled. "No you're not."

He gave up the act, opening his eyes and rolling onto his side to face her. They stared at each other for a few seconds, like it was refreshing just to be able to have time to look, without the need to say anything.

"What's 'a matter?" Sawyer finally asked, as if he dreaded the reply.

"What do you mean? Everything's fine."

He didn't answer, but just continued to watch her. She sighed, knowing there wasn't any point in lying. It was almost like he knew she wasn't telling the truth before she even knew it herself. She turned over onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. "That guy yesterday... Did he seem weird to you at all?"

"Anybody that wants to come up here in this kinda weather just for the hell of it must have a few screws loose somewhere. Guy probably eats acorns for breakfast."

"I don't just mean that," Kate said quietly. "There was something... _strange _about him. I don't know what exactly." She paused for a second, then turned to look at Sawyer again. "He said his last name was Brennon."

"So?"

It took her a second to answer. When she did, it was in a whisper. "That was Tom's last name."

Sawyer glanced away, not really knowing what to say to that. "I'm sure it's a pretty common name. Ain't like if they both happened to be called _Finkelstein_. Now _then _I'd suspect somethin' fishy."

"I guess," she said, sounding unconvinced. "It just caught me by surprise." She tried to make her voice even and casual, in order for him not to see how deep her worry went. He was right, of course, and she knew she was just overreacting. "I wonder where he was last night? His cabin looked empty when I went to get the food."

"Maybe he went to feed his big blue ox," Sawyer said. "Or to use his giant axe to dig some canyons."

Kate laughed a little. "Maybe." She sat up with the blanket clutched against her chest, looking toward the fireplace, wishing she hadn't said anything. Talking about it seemed to make the fear more real, instead of allaying it. She felt Sawyer's hand against her lower back, his fingertips gently caressing the bare skin.

"Not everyone in this world is out to get you, Kate."

The sound of her name, so rarely used by him unless he was yelling, startled her. It also, for some unaccountable reason, made her throat knot up with emotion. She turned her head to look at him, swallowing hard and refusing to shed any tears. "I know that," she said in a strained tone, giving him a look of mixed confusion, hurt, and gratitude.

His eyes felt like they were boring holes into her. "Do you?"

She couldn't stand the force of his gaze. Pulling herself over to the edge of the bed, she tugged on her clothes from yesterday, and then started searching through a bag for more. "There's a laundry station near the vending machines. Might as well do a load or two while we're here."

He didn't answer. After she'd gathered together two piles, one of whites and one of darks, she took his coat off the back of a chair and pulled the pistol from the inside pocket. She stuck it into the waistband of her jeans, underneath her sweater.

Sawyer watched this process with detached interest, still laying in bed. "What are you gonna do, threaten the washing machine?" He crossed his hands behind his head, with a smirk. "Because I hear they don't work well under pressure."

She rolled her eyes a little, grateful that he never stayed serious for long. "I just feel safer having it with me."

"So I guess that means you're plannin' to leave me here all alone to hold down the fort without even a hatchet to defend myself," he drawled in a mock self-pitying tone. "Sure hope I ain't scalped by the time you get back."

Kate picked up his pants from the floor and tossed them at him. "Then get dressed and come with me."

It was as close as she could get to admitting she wanted his company, but he didn't need any formality. Swinging his legs out of bed, he pulled his pants on.

* * *

It turned out that maybe threatening the washing machine hadn't been such a bad idea. For the life of her, Kate couldn't figure out how to get it to work. "Are these labels in... _Japanese_?" she wondered out loud, staring at the knobs in bewilderment.

Sawyer didn't offer any help. He was having his own issues with the vending machine. "Worthless piece of shit," he muttered under his breath, grabbing something from the retrieval bin. "Snickers," he said with contempt. Straightening up, he showed Kate. "The thing gives me a goddamn _Snickers_."

"So?" she asked.

"_So_..." he said, like it was obvious and she was offending him. "If I _wanted _a Snickers, I woulda punched the button for one!" He turned back to the machine and began to shake it, lifting it off its base and rocking it from one side to the other, trying to get something to fall into the bin.

Kate watched him, amused but concerned. "Sawyer, stop! You're gonna break it."

"Good," he said, casting her a pointed glance. "If I bust the damn thing open, maybe I can get what I paid for."

"Everything all right in here?"

They both turned, Sawyer with fierceness, Kate with a sheepish guilt. Paul was standing in the doorway, blinking in the dim light of the generator station after the glaring brightness outside. "Thought I heard some commotion on my way past."

"We're okay," Kate said, wanting him to leave. "Something got stuck in the vending machine. That's all."

"Ah," Paul said, stepping into the interior and letting the glass door swing shut behind him. "That one's tricky. What you have to do is, instead of pushing the button for what you want... push the next one up." He stopped at the machine and dug a couple of quarters out of his pocket, inserting them in the slot. "Try it now."

Sawyer glared at him suspiciously for a second, but then jabbed his finger at the button next to the one he'd tried earlier. The chips he'd been going for were released from their hook and fell into the bin. Reaching down to grab them, he muttered a grudging, "_Thanks_."

"My pleasure," said Paul, as if he had no receptors with which to detect sarcasm. Or possibly he just refused to acknowledge it.

"Hey, _Abby_," Sawyer said, looking at Kate. "Why don't you ask Davy Crockett here how to use the washer?"

She shot him a flat warning look. All she wanted was for the guy to get the hell out of here and leave them alone. "I'm sure I'll figure it out," she said.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't be much help with that, anyway," Paul said, bending down to tie his shoe. "I'm not much for modern technology. Give me a bucket of water and a bar of soap, and that's about all I need."

"You wash your clothes in a _bucket_?" Sawyer asked, staring at him like he was from another planet. "What are you, Amish?"

"No," Paul said, laughing. "Not quite. I guess I just like to keep things as simple as possible. My ultimate fantasy is to get stranded on some deserted island, with just the basics to stay alive. It's always been my dream."

Kate and Sawyer exchanged quick glances. Sawyer gave an ironic scoff. "Wouldn't wish for that too hard, if I was you, pal. Reality might not quite live up to the dream."

Paul stood up. "Maybe you're right," he said, still friendly. He narrowed his eyes and studied Sawyer for a second. "You know, Joel, I've got to say, I've been through Oregon a few times, and you sure don't sound like anyone I've heard there. I'm no expert...it's really just a hobby of mine... but if I had to guess, I'd say I hear a trace of Appalachia in that accent."

"He's from Georgia, originally," Kate supplied fast, before Sawyer could say anything. "His family only came up to Oregon when he was a teenager. That's where we met... in high school."

"Well, that explains it," Paul said. "Now, _you_, on the other hand," he continued, looking at Kate. "You sound just like the girls back home."

"In Michigan?" she asked.

"Oh, no.. Michigan's where I live _now_, but it's not where I'm from. No, I grew up in Iowa."

Kate's entire body reacted to the word, a jolting, sickening lurch within her, although she remained completely still on the outside. She felt the blood drain from her face, and hoped it wasn't noticeable. Turning back to the washing machine, she absently fiddled with the knobs. "Oh?" she said, striving to keep her tone light. "That's strange. I've lived in Oregon all my life."

The silence following her remark lasted just a split second too long, enough to make her uncomfortable.

"Well, American dialects are funny, huh?" Paul smiled, with a casual shrug. "Nobody ever said it was an exact science." He headed back toward the door. "I'll see you folks around. Have a nice day."

Kate stared after him, still disturbed.

"Guy's a fruitcake," Sawyer said with scorn. "Who the hell studies _accents _as a hobby?"

She didn't say anything. Her mouth felt a little dry.

"Heads up, Freckles," Sawyer said.

She turned toward him just as he tossed the Snickers in her direction. She caught it. Forcing herself to shake off the cloud of worry that had started to settle over her, she gave him a tiny smile. "Thanks."

* * *

Kate tried to act normal for the rest of the afternoon, but she knew Sawyer could tell that something was bothering her. She had the familiar sensation of itchy feet, of wanting to pack up and move on. She restrained herself from voicing this impulse, though, because she knew it would annoy him. They'd agreed to stay here for two more days, till the middle of the week. That way the roads would be less heavily traveled when they finally made it back into civilization. For her to suggest they change their plans now, especially this late in the day when it was already starting to get dark, would seem abrupt and hasty.

In a gesture that she thought was unusually sweet for him, he tried to distract her with a Scrabble set that he'd found underneath the bed. It was unclear whether it belonged with the cabin, or whether somebody had left it behind. She thought it was a little funny that they couldn't seem to escape from board games. In any case, the set was tattered and musty, and there were a few letters missing. They attempted to play anyway, but they soon realized that neither of them were very good at Scrabble. They didn't seem to know enough words. And Kate was pretty sure that Sawyer was making up his own. She let him get away with it, since he was fairly convincing. She wasn't in the mood to call him out.

When Sawyer had won the round, she stretched her legs and stood up. "I'm gonna go get a few of those frozen dinners. What are you in the mood for?"

"Get whatever you want," he said, leaning back on the floor. "It all tastes like cardboard, anyway."

She slipped her coat on and stepped out onto the porch, pausing on the top step to look down at the lake. The sun had set about an hour ago, and the sky was still a pale blue, although the woods already looked black. Their canoe bobbed in the gently lapping waves.

"Beautiful evening, isn't it?"

She spun around with her hand on her heart, the voice seeming to come from just beside her.

Paul was sitting on their porch with a rifle, cleaning it. One leg was resting casually on the rail as he leaned back in a wooden chair.

Shocked, she stared at him, trying to catch her breath. "You scared me."

"Sorry about that."

"What are you doing here?" Kate asked, in a tone that was anything but friendly.

"I didn't want to disturb you two, but I thought I'd better let you know what I was up to, so you wouldn't be alarmed by the noise." He finished wiping the rifle with a rag and took a case of cartridges from a pouch. Carefully, he began to slip them in. "There's a shooting range down past the last cabin. Thought I'd have myself a little target practice, make sure my night vision's still what it used to be."

She watched him, biting her lip, wondering whether to speak. Her sense of needing to do the right thing forced her to. "You're, um... You're putting those in the wrong way," she said with hesitation.

He looked up at her sharply. "Come again?"

"The cartridges," she said. "You're putting them in backwards. It could cause the gun to jam... It's dangerous."

He lowered his gaze to the cartridge in his hand, and appeared to be surprised. "Well, I'll be darned. So I am. Thanks for the tip." He looked up at her again as he started to tip the cartridges out of the barrel. "So how's a law student know so much about guns, anyway?"

She felt trapped for a second. Swallowing almost imperceptibly, she said, "My dad used to take me hunting when I was a kid."

"The English professor?" There was something like laughter far back in his eyes. But it wasn't good-natured anymore.

Kate stared at him hard. "Yeah."

Paul didn't answer right away. He put the cartridges back into the gun the correct way and locked the hammer into place. Raising the rifle to his eye, he sighted it out over the snow-covered ground and the lake, then slowly swung it back toward Kate. With a smile, he lowered it to his lap again. Standing up, he came nearer to her, stopping just inches away from her face. She kept watching him, not moving, not backing down.

"Thanks, Abby," he said, winking at her. "Good thing someone was paying attention. Otherwise," he said, and here he paused, lowering his voice and emphasizing his last words with sinister intent. "I mighta got myself_ blown up_. We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

She didn't look away from his eyes, and her face was stony and cold. He stared at her for a few more seconds, and then his amiable smile reappeared, as if by magic, so that if you'd looked away for a minute, you never would have known it'd been gone.

"You two sleep well!" Paul said as he stepped off of the porch. "I should wrap up within an hour or two, so don't worry about me keeping you awake!"

Kate stood on the porch for a bit longer, her arms wrapped around herself. She waited until his footsteps had died away in the distance.

Finally, she opened the door and went back inside, closing it behind her and standing there as if she didn't quite know where she was at.

Sawyer slammed the phone down again, looking frustrated. "What's the point of havin' a damn cell phone if she never answers it?" He noticed Kate's empty hands. "Where's the food?"

"I want to leave. Now," she said.

He looked at her like she was crazy. "What?"

"I don't want to stay here tonight. It's that guy..."

At this, Sawyer rolled his eyes and turned his head away in a gesture that meant, _Not this again_.

"Sawyer, would you listen to me? He was outside on our porch just now, cleaning a rifle!"

"So maybe he likes to hunt."

"It isn't just that. The way he looks at me... And the things he says... It's like," she stopped. "It's like he knows who I am."

"You've really gone around the bend, haven't you, sweetheart? Hell, I can understand bein' cautious, but I think you've done crossed the line into paranoia now."

"I'm not just imagining things, Sawyer!" She came toward him, trying to force him to understand. "Don't you think it was strange how he just _happened _to mention those things today... About a deserted island, and Iowa? Didn't that seem suspicious_ at all _to you? I don't have an Iowa accent! I don't even think there _is _an Iowa accent! He didn't bring that up because he was listening to the way we talked. Don't you get it?" She stopped, looking scared. "He said it because he _already knew_ where we were from. He was just messing with us."

She could see in Sawyer's eyes that he was consciously refusing to listen to her, or to allow her words to penetrate. It made her want to kick him. "This the way it's always gonna be with you, from now on? Someone mentions some random thing that has to do with your past and you start checkin' their pockets for handcuffs?"

His dismissive tone hurt her, more than she wanted him to know. "Are you calling me crazy?" she asked, fighting tears. "Don't you think that maybe... I've earned the right to know when to trust my instincts?"

He looked at the fire, not meeting her eyes. "Cuts both ways, sugar. I been in my own share of trouble, in case it's slipped your mind. I reckon my instincts are just about as sharp as yours are." He looked over at her. "And we're not leavin' tonight. So forget it."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "And what the hell gives you the right to make that decision?"

"Maybe the fact that I'm sick of you callin' the shots all the time."

Kate almost laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "_That's _what this is about? Some macho bullshit? So you expect me to believe that you're willing to risk _everything_, just to prove a point?" She shook her head. "I don't buy it."

"Believe whatever you want," he said. "But we're stayin' here till Thursday, like we agreed. That's what I told Meg, and she still hasn't called back yet."

"We can get in touch with her from the next place we stop! There's still plenty of time for that." She tried to sound reasonable, still desperate to convince him.

He ignored her.

"Sawyer," she said, almost pleading. "I don't feel safe here."

She thought she saw a brief flicker of concern for her in his expression, but he repressed it. "Is that it? Or could it be that you're just gettin' a little stir crazy... A little anxious for the next adrenaline rush? Thought maybe you'd last longer than two days, but hell, I can't say I'm really surprised."

"That's not fair," she said, getting mad. "You know how much I hate living like this! I stayed at your house for almost _two months_! And we didn't leave there because I wanted to... we left because we didn't have any choice! Or do you not remember that part?"

"Yeah, I remember it," he said sarcastically. "But sometimes I gotta wonder, Freckles. If those sons-of-bitches hadn't shown up when they did, exactly how much longer would you have lasted?" His eyes gleamed with a kind of malice that made her sick. Sometimes she truly hated him.

"Are you serious?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

"Could be that you don't even want someplace to stay. What if you only _think _you do?" It was difficult to tell whether the anger in his eyes was really directed at her, or at himself. He seemed to have so much of it bottled up that even _he _couldn't know exactly what caused it to leak out.

Kate was quiet, feeling like he'd slapped her. "That isn't true."

"Guess we'll find out soon enough," he said. Then he went on, almost as if now that he'd started, he was testing her to see how far he could go. His speech was slow and deliberate, timed for maximum effect. "See, I got this theory... that maybe you didn't start runnin' because you blew up that house. Maybe you blew up that house... so you could start running."

She didn't have it in her to reply to these words. Even though she knew none of this had anything to do with why he was really angry at her, it didn't matter. She didn't know if anything he'd ever said had hurt her so much, both because of the startling absurdity of the statement, and the terrifying grain of truth in it.

He looked away from her eyes now, and she could see the regret in his features. He'd gone too far, and he knew it. They were silent for a minute. The only sound came from the faint crackling of the fire.

Choosing to circumvent the dangerous path that the conversation had taken, Kate brought it back to its origins when she finally spoke again. "I don't want to stay here tonight," she repeated, quietly.

Sawyer seemed to be listening, and she thought he was going to give in. "Money's in the coat," he told her, reaching for it and tossing it to her. "Figure half of it's yours. You earned it."

Her eyes filled with tears now, of rage and frustration. Even through her disappointment, she could see the fear he tried to mask with indifference as he waited to see if she would leave. She threw the coat back at him, hard. "_Go to hell_," she said in a broken voice. He hid his relief under a smug expression, as if he'd won the battle.

They didn't say anything else. Kate gave up on trying to convince him to leave. There was no chance of success now.

Sawyer lay down on the bed, turning away from her and burying his head in the pillow, as if he had plans to go to sleep, even though it was only about 6:00. Kate sat in the chair by the small front window. Neither one of them had any appetite left.

After about an hour, Sawyer actually did fall asleep, and so was able to stop faking it. Kate stayed where she was, only getting up to turn the light off. The room was cold, but she was still wearing her coat from earlier. She sat rigidly awake in the chair for hours, staring out at the slope of snow and the woods that bordered the lake. The moon was bright and everything was perfectly visible. She watched for any sign of movement.

When she saw Sawyer outside walking in the snow, she was surprised. She looked back behind her at the bed, but it was gone. She was staring at the ocean, as the waves rolled in toward her, gray and stormy and tumultuous. She looked up, confused, to find that she was outside on a beach. The sky was heavy and overcast. The ground under her feet was covered with snow, yet the air was thick and humid, the way it had been on the island. It was hard to breathe. To her right, sharp black rocks jutted up like some kind of barrier, all down the coast as far she could see.

Sawyer was just a speck on the horizon. She started to move toward him, but the snow was thick and hard to walk through. It felt like quicksand. "Sawyer!" she called. He didn't seem to hear her. She stopped, listening. The sound of a baby crying in the opposite direction made her spin around and look behind her. But she couldn't see anything, and she turned back toward Sawyer, ignoring it. The noise faded away.

"Sawyer!" she yelled again. He seemed to hear her this time, and he turned. But before he could start toward her, a gunshot blast rang out, so explosive that it made her fall to her knees in fear. When she pulled herself up again, Sawyer was on the ground.

She ran toward him, dragging her feet through the pasty snow that pulled at her ankles. After what seemed an eternity, she dropped to the ground beside him in horror. The snow around him was stained with blood, like an artist's outline. She couldn't even tell where it was coming from. His shirt was soaked with it. When she touched him he was already cold and lifeless. She felt her head shaking back and forth, desperately, of its own volition. "No," she said, her voice hoarse. "No... no no no no. Sawyer!" she shouted, grabbing him and shaking his shoulders. He was heavy and limp. "Please... _please_..." She picked up his hand, a hand that had been warm and vital and alive, a hand that had touched and worshipped every square inch of her body, but that would never touch her again. It was dead.

Someone was standing over her. She looked up, out of her mind with grief. It was Paul. He balanced his rifle over his shoulder.

"You were right about the gun, Kate," he said. "It works much better this way."

She felt herself getting dizzy, and she leaned over, balancing her head on Sawyer's unmoving chest. His breath was gone. He would never come back to her. She waited for the shot, praying for it.

When it came, she jumped. The pain she felt was in her neck, and she thought that was where she'd been hit. But it was an aching, dull pain, not sharp and stinging like a gunshot wound. She raised her throbbing head up, blinking in the darkness. Her chest was tight with pressure, and she felt the stickiness of dried tears on her cheeks. She found herself looking out a window at a snow-covered slope in the moonlight, and at first she couldn't remember where she was. The only thing she felt was an overwhelming sense of loss, a loss that she knew she couldn't bear.

She heard muttering from behind her. Disoriented, she stood up, raising one hand to her sore neck and balancing the other one on the back of the chair to keep from falling. Sawyer was in the bed, tossing his head around like he was distressed.

With trembling knees, she made her way over to his side. She pressed her hands against his chest, feeling how warm he was, feeling how it rose and fell with his gasps of breath. The relief that flooded through her was one of the strongest emotions she'd ever experienced. It had only been a nightmare. She knew that now, rationally. But it didn't keep this moment from feeling like a second chance. A second chance she probably didn't deserve.

Suddenly, Sawyer's head jerked, and he gripped her wrists as his eyes opened. He was breathing hard. They stared at each other, their faces just barely visible in the dark room. Sawyer looked toward the window, tortured, and then back at Kate, raising his hands to the sides of her face as if to frame it. He looked at her like he hadn't ever expected to see her again. They remained frozen like that for moment.

"Let's go," he whispered.

She nodded tearfully, taking one of his hands and squeezing it hard as she stood up.

They packed everything up in less than two minutes, without turning a light on. Sawyer's watch said that it was 2:00 in the morning. He closed the door quietly after them and they headed down toward the dock. When they reached it, they both stood still and listened for a second, but there was nothing but silence. Kate dropped the largest duffel bag into the stern, but Sawyer lifted it out again. He kneeled down and dug into the front of Kate's backpack. She was confused, but she didn't say anything. He brought out the pocket knife and flipped the blade open. As she watched in shock, he leaned over the edge of the dock, and with one quick plunge, gouged a large hole in the bottom of the canoe. It immediately began to take on water.

"Sawyer!" she said. "What the hell are you doing?" Her voice sounded frantic.

He stood up and walked toward the bank, reaching down for a boulder the size of a beach ball. Staggering back with it, he dropped it into the middle of the canoe. The weight caused the interior to fill up even faster. It would sink to the bottom within a matter of minutes. Kate watched it, horrified.

Sawyer looked at her as if he was vaguely surprised at her confusion. "How do you think somebody would expect us to get out of here?"

It suddenly dawned on her what he meant, and the sense that his plan made was like a revelation. She stared at him with a kind of awe she'd never felt before.

He hoisted the duffel bag up and grabbed her elbow. "Can you make it up that hill in back?"

"Yeah," she said. She'd already decided that was where they had to go.

They stayed in their earlier tracks as far as possible, then circled around the edge of the cabin, close to the building. In the back, they headed up the steep hill. It wasn't easy, especially with snow on the ground, but they clung to small trees for leverage. Sawyer made Kate climb in front of him, so that he could break her fall if he had to. With shaking, tired limbs, they made it to the top in about ten minutes.

Flat, level woods stretched off behind them. Kate tried to gauge their location and which direction they should start in. "I think we should try to stay west," she said, still catching her breath. "It's probably the easiest way to find a road, and if..."

"Shh!" Sawyer interrupted her, putting his hand on her arm. She looked where he was gazing. From here, they had a clear view of the entire campsite, with all six cabins and the lake displayed like a diorama below them. Paul was heading up the path to their cabin, rifle in hand. They both froze, holding as still as possible, watching him.

He knocked on the door with the butt of the gun. "Joel! Abby? I hate to bother you at this hour, but I've got something I could use a little assistance with, if you don't mind!" He waited and tried again. "Come on, now... Might as well be neighborly! I helped _you _out, remember?" Kate clenched her teeth together when she saw him peering through the front window. Looking a bit alarmed, he pushed the unlocked door open and went inside. Seconds later he came back out, glancing around in desperation. He ran down to the dock, noticing that the canoe was gone. His eyes scanned the empty lake, and even from this height, they could hear his outraged, "_Fuck_!" He jogged back up to his own cabin and dragged a boat out from where it had been hidden behind the building. It was small, but it had a motor. He quickly slid it down and pushed it into the water, climbing in. After a few frenzied tugs on the chain, the engine revved into life, and he angled the boat out into the lake, disappearing around a bend.

Sawyer and Kate gradually let out the pent-up tension of their breath.

"That was a good idea," Kate said softly. "Sinking the canoe."

"Who the hell is he?" Sawyer said, his voice low with rage. "FBI?"

Kate shook her head. A small, bitter smile played over her lips. "No. He's their competition." She glanced at Sawyer, who still seemed confused. "He's a bounty hunter," she said. "I can't believe I didn't think of it before. He's in it for the money. God knows how he found us here."

"Then why didn't he just make his move out in the woods yesterday, when he had the chance? Why wait so long?"

Kate didn't answer for a second. Her expression was faraway and sad. "Have you ever seen a cat play with a mouse before it kills it?"

He stared at her, feeling sick.

"It's part of the game," she whispered, looking out over the lake.

They sat there next to each other in the snow for a few minutes longer. Then they stood up and started walking.

* * *

It was just beginning to get light when they finally emerged near a two-lane highway. Exhausted, they walked alongside it, hoping to reach someplace with food. They stayed near the tree line, ready to disappear into the woods again if necessary. After about an hour, they halted at a bridge that crossed a long, meandering branch of the lake. They measured the distance and weighed their options. Without a canoe, there would be no other way to cross, and they'd come too far to go back in the other direction.

"I think we should do it now, while it's early," Kate said. "We've only seen one or two cars so far."

Sawyer sighed, unenthusiastic, and they cautiously climbed up onto the pavement and started across. They walked quickly, but it would still take them a few minutes to reach the other side.

When they'd made it about three-fourths of the way over the bridge, they heard the sound of a vehicle approaching from behind them. "Damn it," Kate muttered, ducking her head. Sawyer moved to the other side of her, shielding her as well as he could. A large, luxury RV slowed and passed them. When it had gotten to the end of the bridge, it slowed even more, reversed, and came to a stop across the highway, blocking both lanes completely.

Kate looked up in terror. Sawyer's hand reached for the gun. "Go back," she told him, already turning to run. He stayed next to her, and they started back toward the other end of the bridge.

A voice boomed out behind them. "Well I can't say I was expecting a welcoming party, but the gun is a bit much, even for you two, isn't it?"

Kate slowed and then came to a stop, bewildered. She looked at Sawyer. They turned around at the same time.

Aunt Meg stepped down out of the RV and walked toward them. "You lose that damn dog again?" she bellowed.

Slowly, in shock, they waited for her to reach them. "Dog's _dead_," Sawyer said with annoyance, adjusting faster than Kate.

Meg sniffed, unsympathetic. "Figures."

"How the hell did you _find us_?" he asked, not understanding how she could just appear here, in front of them.

"You gave me your number, dumbass. All I had to do was trace it to the location. You ever been on this thing called _the internet_?" she asked. "It's the craziest damn thing I've ever seen. Any place where you can trace a number and look up porn at the same time is all right in my book."

Kate looked down at the ground, holding back laughter that was close to tears in her immense relief.

"What _is _that thing?" Sawyer asked, gesturing toward the RV.

"That _thing _is my new house... Just bought it yesterday. You are looking at a ree-tired woman, James. Finally hit it big at the casino... And you said it was a waste of time," she added, scornfully. "Those Cherokees can kiss my ass if they think they'll ever see a cent of that money back. I'm not one of those dipshits who wins a pile and then goes right back in and blows it all on blackjack. I'll never set foot in the joint again."

Meg took a deep breath after this speech and finally turned her attention to Kate. "Hi, kid. You stayin' out of trouble?"

Kate smiled. "Trying to."

"Not very hard, I bet," Meg said, smiling back. Then the smile faded as she looked at Kate more closely. She took a step back and then stepped forward again, moving around her a little. She raised her hands and pinched Kate's cheeks, with a suspicious air. "Unbutton your coat," she demanded.

"What?" Kate asked, surprised.

Meg reached out and unbuttoned it herself. Lifting up Kate's sweater in the middle of the highway, she leaned over and poked and prodded at her stomach, hard. Kate winced, trying to back away. There was nowhere to go except over the railing. She was too stunned to say anything.

Finally, Meg straightened back up, letting the sweater drop. She turned toward Sawyer, leveling a knowing, accusatory glare at him. "You son of a bitch," she said. "You couldn't have at least waited till you got her up there?"

He seemed to be honestly at a loss for words. "It was an _accident_."

"Oh, well, there's the newsflash of the century," Meg said with sarcasm. She shook her head. "What are you two, fifteen?"

Kate looked away, miserably. Meg stared at her now, her expression softening a little. She seemed sad. "When is it due?"

Shrugging almost imperceptibly, Kate looked out over the water. "I don't know," she said in a quiet, evasive tone. It was the tone that was supposed to ward off intrusion, the tone that always made Sawyer change the subject.

Meg grabbed her chin and spun her head back around, forcing her to make eye contact. "You _don't know_?" she repeated, emphasizing the words.

"No," Kate said, getting angry now. "I don't know." She looked at Sawyer as if for some kind of support, but he didn't help her.

"Well then," Meg said in a no-nonsense voice, her face firm and set. "I expect it's about time to find out. Isn't it?"

She let go of Kate's chin, and Sawyer stared at the ground, feeling a crazy kind of relief, like a burden had been lifted off his shoulders. Meg had never done him a favor in his life that he could remember, but he was grateful to her now. She wouldn't put up with any bullshit. She would get things done. Kate didn't stand a chance against her. And for once, he had no sympathy. It was time for things to be brought into the open.

"I don't know about you two, but I don't feel like standin' around in the damn road all day. It's colder than a witch's tit out here." She studied them carefully. "You hungry?"

"Yeah," Kate said, recovering her composure. "We're starving."

With an almost-sympathetic smile, Meg led her toward the RV. "Come on then. Let me give you the grand tour." Kate stepped up into the interior and Meg followed, but she turned around to face Sawyer before he stepped up. "And _you_," she said, pointing at him. "Try to keep that thing in your pants for awhile, all right?" She turned and went up.

Sawyer closed his eyes, exhaling loudly as he remembered how obnoxious this woman was. He climbed up into the RV.


	23. Chapter 23

Just wanted to answer a few questions from the reviews last time -

**Jarlie**: The answer to how far along Kate is is in this chapter. As for how long the story will go, do you mean in our time, or theirs? I except to probably be _writing _it into late spring/early summer. I can't tell you much time will pass in the fic, since that's a spoiler. ;)

**Budweiser88: **You asked how long it took me to write that chapter. WAY too long. About 18 hours total, although 14 of those hours were on the day I posted it.

**Sawyerlover01**: You asked how I came up with the story Kate told Sawyer. You mean the Indian legend? Well, almost every lake in North America has some kind of legend like that associated with it, it seems like. I just put a Skate-centric spin on a generic story. Didn't come from anywhere specific.

**SLD: **You asked if they should be coming up on the holidays soon. Funny you should ask... The answer is in this very chapter. ;)

Thanks so much to everybody for reviewing!

* * *

**Chapter 23**

Kate gingerly crawled over Sawyer, trying to get to the edge of this bed that was no more than a shelf in the wall of the RV. She should have known that it would have been better to make _him _sleep by the wall. It was the middle of the night, but since they'd gone to bed in the late afternoon, making up for their all-night trek from the day before, she felt she'd had enough sleep for the time being. Sawyer, of course, she now thought with mild annoyance, could probably sleep for twenty-four hours straight if he was allowed to. When she was halfway over him, her knee slipped and dug into his midsection, and he drew in his breath sharply and rolled over, pissed.

"Sorry," she whispered, sliding off the other side, finally clear of the bed. "Go back to sleep." But there was no need to say this, because he already was.

She knotted her hair in a quick bun at the back of her head and pulled her coat on. Since Meg had still been driving when she and Sawyer had gone to sleep, Kate wasn't exactly sure where they'd stopped. Some sort of campsite, she assumed. It wouldn't hurt to look around and get some fresh air.

Unlatching the side door of the RV quietly, she stepped down and looked around. They were parked in a wide gravel lot bordered by forest, with a grassy hill sloping down to a creek. Street lamps illuminated the area, but there were no other campers or vehicles parked here that she could see. Past the edge of the lot, before the trees became too thick, there were a few picnic tables. Meg was sitting on top of one, her feet balanced on the bench, smoking. Kate thought about turning in the other direction before she was spotted, but decided against it. Some impulse hidden deep within her, perhaps self-destructive, sought out the older woman's company. Slowly, with her arms crossed, she walked toward the table.

"Don't you ever sleep?" she asked when she got close enough to be heard.

Meg turned her head slightly, not surprised to see her. "Not if I can help it." She glanced down at Kate as she sat on the bench next to her feet. "Cigarette?"

Kate shot her a pointed look, eyebrows raised.

Meg gave a low, amused cackle. "Well, it's good to see you haven't lost your sense of humor."

For a minute or so, Kate didn't say anything. She could hear the faint, splashing babble of the creek meandering into the darkness down the hill. The sound made her thirsty, but it was somehow refreshing in itself, just to listen to it. Finally, she took a deep breath and then let it out. "How did you know?" she asked softly, not looking at Meg.

"Funny, isn't it?" Meg said, not even bothering to pretend she didn't understand what Kate was talking about. "I've always been able to do that. Women _hate _me for it." She sounded somewhat proud of this fact. "It helps that I used to be a nurse, but mostly it's just... intuition, I guess. I'd say you were seven or eight weeks along. That sound about right?"

Kate took a second to answer. When she did, it was with a vague, noncommittal air. "Something like that."

"Try to reign in that excitement a little, hon," Meg said, flicking her ashes over the edge of the table.

With an incredulous look, Kate echoed, "_Excitement_? Is that what you think I should feel?" She looked out toward the hill, shaking her head a little. "And why the hell would I be _excited _about the worst thing that could possibly happen to me right now?"

"To _you, _huh?" Meg said, emphasizing the second word. "Interesting. I'd'a thought you'd have gone with an _us _in that sentence, instead of a _me_. After all, you didn't get yourself into this alone, did you?" She sounded like she was simply making a scientific analysis that she had no emotional stake in whatsoever.

With a trace of regret, Kate corrected herself. "That's what I meant."

Meg didn't respond to this directly, possibly because she didn't believe it. Instead, she asked, "And what does _he _think about all this?" She angled her head toward the RV.

Kate stared down at her hands in her lap. Her skin had a sickly yellow hue in the street lamp, and it made her unrecognizable to herself. "He's..." she began, and then faltered. With a sigh, she started over. "I don't know what he thinks. We don't talk about it." She glanced up at Meg, as if testing to see how she was taking this statement. "I know that must sound strange."

"You're damn right it sounds strange," Meg said, giving her a level, uncompromising stare. "What are you waiting for - your water to break?"

Rolling her eyes, Kate glanced away. "I think we've got a _little _time to work with before that happens," she said sarcastically. "With everything that's going on right now, I just think... that we have more important things to worry about."

Meg sniffed. "Those seven months might seem like a lifetime now, but they'll be gone before you know it. Believe me."

Kate looked at her curiously. "Do you have kids?"

The expression on the older woman's face changed subtly, in a way Kate hadn't yet witnessed. The lines around her eyes became deeper, and her mouth hardened as she blew a stream of smoke out into the air. "No. I don't." She seemed to be covering a deep-seated pain with a thin veneer of anger. "Guess that means my advice isn't worth a damn, doesn't it?"

"I didn't say that," Kate said quietly, feeling that she'd struck a nerve. "I was just wondering. Sawyer never mentioned it."

A tiny, sardonic smile played over Meg's lips. "One of life's little ironies, isn't it? I was married to the same man for thirty-five years, and during that first decade, we probably had more sex than most people do in a lifetime. But somehow... nothin' ever came of it. I spent all those years of my marriage watching girls like you get knocked up by accident and then complain about how unfair life was. All my sisters... All my brothers' wives. Then, later on, my nieces. And I just waited. Waited for twenty-five years, until finally I realized my body was closin' up shop." She jabbed her cigarette butt into the picnic table, hard, putting it out. With swift, sure movements, she pulled another one out of her pocket and lit it. "Anyway. Probably for the best. I'm sure if I'd'a had my own, I'd have screwed 'em up somehow."

Kate watched her, not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry," she finally muttered, barely above a whisper.

Meg glared at her, making Kate instantly wish she'd chosen different words. "I ain't _complaining_. I had almost forty years with a man I loved, and that's more than some people get. It wasn't perfect, but it coulda been worse. We were happy."

These words introduced a dark, half-formed question in Kate's mind. She held Meg's gaze for a few seconds, but then turned her head away, deciding not to bring it up.

"_What_?" Meg asked, looking at her shrewdly.

"Nothing." Kate shrugged a little, in a manner that wasn't very convincing.

"I can tell you got somethin' you want to say." Meg almost seemed to suspect what that something was. "So spit it out."

Kate looked back at her, meeting her stare head-on now. "I guess I was just wondering. If you never had any kids of your own... If it was just you and your husband..." She swallowed back emotion. "Then why couldn't you have taken him in?" Her voice wavered a little with her anger, which surprised her. "Why didn't you raise him yourself, after everything happened? He was only _eight_. It couldn't have been any worse than being shuffled around to all those foster families... those _strangers _who didn't give a damn about him." She could feel the burning intensity of her own gaze, and she had to blink to clear away tears. The sudden rage she experienced was something she hadn't expected at all. She was used to carrying a load of bitterness for her own miserable childhood, but until now, she hadn't realized that she'd started toting around a portion of Sawyer's as well. Her heart ached for him. "How could you have let that happen?"

Meg seemed to be mildly amused by this whole speech. "You've got it all figured out, don't you?" she asked Kate. "Must be nice." She took a long drag on her cigarette, shaking her head a little. Kate waited for her to go on. When she finally did, she sounded unusually sincere. "You think I didn't want him? You think I wouldn't have given just about anything to be able to keep him with us? Hell, back then... John was out of work half the time... In jail the other half. Not for anything _serious_," she added quickly, glancing at Kate. "Bar fights, mostly. Like all the Fords." She raised her eyebrows as if she found this quality somehow endearing. "But we were dirt poor and neither one of us had the best reputation with the neighbors. That was the golden age of social services. Even in rural Tennessee, those bastards weren't about to give a kid to people like us.. didn't matter if we _were _his family. I still remember the day the woman from the courts came out... she looked like a goddamn poodle dressed up in a suit. Told me that she was sure I understood how this wasn't really a _wholesome environment _for a child, and that he'd be so much better off with this family in Knoxville. Husband was a pastor, wife ran charity drives. So they took him... just like that. Wasn't anything I could do about it." She attempted to inject distanced reserve into her voice, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of outrage. "If I recall, he wasn't there more than three months before he burned down their garage." She chuckled a little, almost proud. "So they sent him on somewhere else. I lost track for awhile. There were whole years when I never heard from him."

Kate felt a little sick, listening to all this. She began to wish she hadn't introduced the subject.

Meg continued, barely suppressing her anger now. "If I could get my hands on that dried-up flatchested cornhusk of a woman today, I'd snap her neck like a rooster. You know...," she said in a wondering tone, looking at Kate. "I bet when she retired they gave her a nice little certificate of appreciation. Maybe even a medal for all the hard work she did... all those _poor little orphans _she saved." Her smile was contemptuous. "I hope she burns in hell."

The silence stretched out before Kate finally managed to speak again. "Have you ever told him all this?"

Meg gave her a sharp look. "_No_. And you better just keep your mouth shut about it, too."

Confused, Kate couldn't understand the reasoning behind this decision. "Why don't you want him to know?"

"Because there's no use cryin' over spilled milk, is there? It's ancient history. The less he thinks about any of it, the better." She paused, looking up at the stars contemplatively. "Besides, he's got _you _now, doesn't he? I imagine you can do a lot more for him than I ever could."

For some reason, the responsibility that this implied made Kate wary. "I can't make up for what happened to him in the past. No one could do that."

Meg seemed to find this funny, almost as if she'd expected to hear it. "You know what your problem is, girl?" she said with an air of impatience. "You're so busy looking back behind you, feeling sorry for yourself, you don't even see what's right in front of your face. Or God forbid, what's down the road a ways."

Becoming riled immediately, since the subject was a touchy one for her, Kate retorted, "You think I don't live in the present? In the last few weeks, I've nearly been killed by an ex-boyfriend and caught by both the FBI _and _a bounty hunter. Trust me... I think I'm aware of what's going on!" Lowering her voice a little, she added with a slight lack of conviction, "And I _don't _feel sorry for myself."

"Well, the fact that you can say that with a straight face is about the most entertaining thing I've heard all year," Meg said, not meeting her eyes.

Kate tried to keep herself from getting too angry. She had the feeling this woman was baiting her. "I can see why Sawyer always looks forward to your visits so much," she said in a dark undertone.

"Nobody much likes to hear the truth. Least not that I've ever seen."

"Oh, _that's _what this is?" Kate asked, caustically. "The truth? You don't even _know _me."

"I know enough," Meg said vaguely, not choosing to elaborate on this. "I also know that there's thousands of women out there that would give everything they have to trade places with you, even with all the shit you've got to deal with... even if it meant being on the run. So I reckon it's about damn time for you to grow up and start concentrating on what you've _got_, instead of what you _could have _had."

Kate's voice shook with bitterness. "You think so? Maybe that would be a little easier if it wasn't for the fact that everything _I've got _can be taken away from me at a moment's notice. So yeah, you're right," she went on, sarcastically. "I don't get a chance to stop and smell the roses very often, and I sure as hell don't think about the future. If someone happens to recognize me, or if I let my guard down for a _second _and leave a trail for the people who devote their lives to chasing me... Then it's gone. All of it. _Everything _I have."

"You're right," Meg said. "And I could cross the road right now to buy some more cigarettes and get flattened by a logging truck. Life's like that, sweetheart." She gave Kate a hard, uncompromising look. "There's nothin' wrong with bein' scared of what might happen. But don't pretend there _is _no future, just because you're afraid of what it might look like. Face it head on and deal with it."

Kate shook her head, closing herself off to this harsh, unsympathetic advice. She looked away, shrinking back into herself a bit, entering the quiet, safe spaces of her own mind where she could float without allowing any of this to penetrate.

Watching her, Meg sighed heavily, exasperated. "Well, I can see I'm wasting my time. If anybody'd told me last year that James would manage to find himself a girl more stubborn than he is, I'd have said it was impossible." She paused for a second, thinking. "You want an abortion?"

Kate looked back at her now, startled out of her reverie.

"Because if you do, then now's the time to speak up. The longer you wait, the worse it'll be... for you _and _him." Meg's face seemed tired somehow, and sad. Her voice became softer. "You want one, then say the word. I'll take care of the details. We can probably even get it done tomorrow, if I make a few phone calls."

Horrified, Kate had no idea what to say. This was the potential solution to one of her biggest fears, being dangled right in front of her, and she shied away from it as if she were in pain. "I..." she stammered. "I haven't really..."

Meg stood up now, sensing that this would require a little more time for adjustment. She leaned backward with her hand on her hip, cracking her back with a cringe. "You think it over," she said. "We'll talk again in the morning. I guess maybe I oughtta go try to lie down after all. Nocturnal life ain't what it used to be." She started walking toward the RV, her body appearing heavy and weighted down with sorrows that Kate hadn't suspected the existence of until tonight. She flicked her cigarette stub to the ground in a disdainful gesture that was eerily similar to Sawyer's. Although she knew they weren't related by blood, Kate reflected that it was funny how families seemed to share certain characteristics. Even the people who joined by choice fit in perfectly. Was she the same way? Did she belong with these people?

At the door, Meg turned back around with an abstracted air. "Tell me somethin'. You have any idea how long it takes to cook a turkey?"

Bewildered by the complete randomness of the question, it took Kate a second to answer. "Um... _No_. Not really."

"Well," Meg said, "I didn't think you would. G'night." With that, she disappeared into the camper.

Kate stared after her for a second, still confused. Then, slowly, she climbed onto the top of the picnic table and stretched out on her back, looking up at the stars. She tried to make the hardest decision she'd ever been faced with in her life.

* * *

When Sawyer finally climbed out of bed and stumbled into the main kitchen/living area of the RV the next morning, he had the uneasy sensation that he'd walked right into the middle of something that didn't include him. A strained air hung over Kate and Meg, who were seated opposite each other in the booths at the small table. They grew completely quiet as he approached, and he glanced from one to the other, curious. "I ain't interruptin' the girl talk, am I?"

"Nope," Meg said, standing up, finally moving her intense stare away from Kate. "Conversation was over anyway." Her voice had a brisk, business-like tone to it, giving him no indication of what they'd been talking about.

Sawyer stood behind Kate, resting his hands on her shoulders, which felt tense. She tilted her head back to look up at him. "Morning," she said, with a somewhat forced smile. He gave her an upside down kiss, then lowered himself into the booth next to her, heavily, trying to clear the fog in his head. Kate pushed her coffee cup toward him without a word, and he drained what was left in it.

Meg began to fiddle with the small TV that was mounted on the wall near one of the counters, flipping through the channels and adjusting the antenna. "You think there's any chance they show the parade up here?" she asked. "My favorite part's when they do those stupid Broadway numbers, right out in the street. Most awkward, painful thing you could ever hope to see. I love it," she added with relish.

Sawyer squinted, scratching his chest through his t-shirt. "What the hell are you _talkin' _about?"

She turned toward him. "The Macy's Parade. You don't remember it? Those floats used to scare the bejesus out of you when you were a baby, James." She laughed at the memory. When he still didn't act like he understood, she elaborated, as if she were talking to a retarded person. "It's _Thanksgiving_."

Sawyer and Kate glanced at each other, surprised. "Already?" Kate asked.

"Well, you know what they say," Meg remarked dryly. "Time flies when you're runnin' from the Feds."

Kate didn't respond to this.

"Who cares if it's Thanksgiving?" Sawyer asked. "We're in Canada."

"Oh, I'm _sorry_.. Didn't realize you'd filled out your citizenship papers already."

He rolled his eyes with contempt. "All I'm sayin' is, how're we supposed to celebrate it when we're in the wrong country?"

Meg watched him shrewdly, as if she were disappointed in his intelligence. "You think they don't sell turkeys in Canada, boy?" she asked, arching one eyebrow.

Not sure what to say to this, Sawyer glanced at Kate. She shrugged. "She's got a point."

"Fine," Sawyer muttered, seeing that this argument wasn't worth the effort. "Let's eat a damn turkey."

"Glad to see you feel that way," Meg said. "Since you volunteered, you can buy the food."

Sawyer didn't recall volunteering for anything, but the coffee hadn't entirely kicked in yet, and he needed more of it. He watched with dread as Meg passed him a sheet of paper. "Already made you out a list," she said.

Kate gave him a sly smile. "He _loves _lists," she said with a wrinkled nose, and he could tell that she was enjoying this. He shot her an annoyed look, as if this was somehow all her fault.

"And what are you gonna do while I'm out buyin' all this food, Freckles? _Paint your nails_?"

For a split second, he thought he saw a trace of nervous uncertainty on her face, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Meg jumped in. "She's comin' with me. I figure if I'm gonna live in this thing, I better fix it up a little. Needs a personal touch. Drapes... rugs, maybe. They even got these plates now that have rubber on the bottom, so they don't slide around while you're driving. And this special kind of soap that.."

"All _right_," Sawyer interrupted, bored to death already. "I get the point." Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "You gonna drop me off somewhere?"

"You can take this thing," Meg said. "We'll use a cab. When you're done, just bring it back here to the campground. We're paid up through tomorrow." Glancing out the window, she gestured toward a low, gray cinderblock structure. "You see that building?"

"Yeah," Sawyer said.

"Those are the showers." She paused for a second, staring at the two of them as they looked back at her, blankly. "And that was a _hint_, by the way. You both smell like you spent the night in a dumpster outside a whorehouse. Hold on and I'll get you some toothpaste." She disappeared into the back of the RV, toward the master bedroom.

Sawyer shook his head. "God bless the holidays," he muttered under his breath. He suddenly wished for alcohol instead of coffee.

* * *

When the cab arrived for the women about an hour later, Meg went out first, leaving Kate behind. She brushed past her in the doorway, and Sawyer noticed that Kate stared at the floor, making it a point not to meet her eyes. His highly developed ability to read people told him that there was something going on between the two of them, but he couldn't pinpoint it. Was Meg already making her uncomfortable about her denial? If so, she was working faster than he'd expected. Maybe she'd use this shopping trip to get Kate to talk about things. The idea made him a little apprehensive.

"I guess we'll see you later," Kate said now, with her hands in her coat pockets. "This feels weird, doesn't it?"

"It's only for a few hours," he said, trying to brush it off.

"Yeah," she said, exhaling.

"You all right?" he asked. "You sure you want to do this?"

Alarmed, she looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"I _mean_..." he said, like it was obvious, "that she can buy her own damn plates. You don't have to go out in public, if you don't want to."

"Oh," she said, relaxing a bit. "I know. But I think it'll be okay. I'll be careful."

Why did he get the feeling she was hiding something from him? "Any special requests from the store?" he asked, watching her closely.

"Not really," she said. "Get whatever you want."

"All right, then," he said with a tone of finality, cupping her face for a quick goodbye kiss. When he pulled back a little, she stared at him with something like regret. It looked like she was getting ready to speak, but Meg yelled from the lot, "They're already charging us fare, you know!"

Kate dropped her eyes, cutting off what she'd been about to say. "Bye," she told him, giving him one last wan smile as she headed out to the cab. Sawyer watched it pull out onto the road, with an uncomfortable sense of worry.

* * *

It took longer than he'd thought it would to get used to driving the stupid RV, and he nearly backed it off a ravine before he realized how close he was to the edge. When he finally got the hang of it, he made a quick stop at a bank to change a few hundred dollars into Canadian money. The bills they handed back to him were different colors, and at first he thought they were screwing with him, giving him something from a board game. The old lady behind the desk didn't seem to understand his suspicious looks, and he eventually figured out that this was what Canadian money was _supposed _to look like.

At the supermarket, he very quickly became pissed off at the list, and considered tossing it, but stopped himself just in time. Nobody could seem to help him find anything, and his Southern accent appeared infinitely amusing to everyone he spoke to. This whole morning was oddly familiar, and he finally realized it was similar to what he'd been forced to endure on the first full day Kate had stayed with him, in Tennessee. Even his random, unfocused, completely irrelevant anger at Jack was the same. Would that ever go away? In any case, the remembrance of that earlier day inspired him to make an impulse purchase, and he was proud of himself for thinking of it.

When he returned to the campsite, he was glad to see that Kate and Meg weren't back yet, waiting in the cold. It was actually another hour before they showed up, just when Sawyer was starting to get worried enough to consider driving around to look for them. Kate seemed exhausted when she came inside, but also strangely relaxed and peaceful. He was relieved to see this, even though he didn't know what he'd been expecting. Their morning of shopping must not have been _that _bad. Meg, of course, acted exactly the same as she always did, so there was nothing to be learned from observing her.

Digging through one of the grocery bags, Sawyer pulled something out to show Kate. "Lookee what I got here, Freckles."

She glanced up, surprised. "Artichoke?"

"Had me a craving," he explained, flashing his dimples at her. "Will you make it for me?"

She seemed touched, even more than he'd expected. "You really want me to?"

"I paid for it, didn't I?"

She smiled, so pleased that she was on the verge of actually blushing. "Yeah. I'll make it for you."

He inwardly congratulated himself again on thinking of such a thing, since he'd calculated on it having precisely this effect on her. She was complicated, no doubt, but there were some things in this world that would make _any _woman happy, even Kate.

Since it was already afternoon, they set to work to prepare all the food, enlisting Sawyer's help, although he tried in vain to get out of it. As efficiently as they could, they peeled potatoes, mixed dough for rolls, and tried to figure out why the pumpkin pie mixture smelled nothing at all like pumpkin. Because Sawyer had for some reason purchased a turkey that was about five times too large for just the three of them, it wouldn't quite fit into the scaled-down oven of the RV. They were forced to hack it into separate pieces to get it to work. "I feel like a murderer," Kate said in a mournful tone as she sawed off a leg.

"You _are _a murderer," Meg pointed out sensibly. "Now put some muscle into that, before it gets bored and decides to fly out the window."

They cooked everything too fast, resulting in some things being scorched from the increased heat, while others were underdone from the unusually short baking time. The mashed potatoes were lumpy, and the gravy was as thin as water. The rolls didn't rise. Only the artichoke casserole seemed to turn out like it was supposed to. And it wasn't even technically Thanksgiving food.

But by the time they were finished getting it all ready, all three of them were too hungry to care about the sorry state the meal was in. They just wanted to eat. They lined everything up on the small countertop, buffet-style, and filled their plates. Sawyer tried to convince Meg to take some of Kate's casserole. "It's _green_," she said with suspicion. "Just _try it_," he growled, dropping a spoonful onto her plate.

Crammed into the kitchen table booth, Sawyer prepared to dig in. Kate did the same. Meg stopped them, saying, "Don't you want to say what we're thankful for? Have a little prayer?"

They stared at her in astonishment mixed with dread at the prospect of such a thing.

She gave a short bark of laughter. "That was a _joke_. Let's eat."

They didn't talk much as they ate, except to comment on the pathetic state of the food (Meg and Sawyer) or to try to defend it (Kate). Meg decided that she didn't mind the casserole after all, despite the fact that it looked like it came out of a diaper. Sawyer was proud that he'd made a convert.

After they were through eating, Sawyer brought out the bottle of champagne that the list had instructed him to buy. Kate looked mildly disappointed, but he produced another bottle, saying, "Don't worry, sweet cheeks. Got you the non-alcoholic kind."

She was less-than-thrilled with the idea, but resigned herself to it. "Thanks," she said, taking a glass.

"How is it?" he asked when she'd had a sip.

"Not bad," she said, trying to make the best of a bad situation. "It sort of tastes like the kind we had down by the lake that night. Remember?"

"Yeah," he said, remembering the sex more than the champagne.

"Speaking of that lake," Meg said, butting in. "I know I shouldn't ask... but you two didn't happen to dump _a body _in it, by any chance, did you? Because somebody found one a few weeks back. Saw it on the local news when I sold the house."

Sawyer and Kate looked at each other, and then Kate turned back to Meg with a comically guilty face. "We, um... We didn't _kill _him," she said, injecting as much of a positive lilt into her voice as she could muster, in the same tone in which someone would say "At least the _tickets _were cheap" after a terrible movie.

"No?" Meg said, wryly. "Well, then. I suppose that's what they call the _silver lining_." She looked down at her glass, and then stood up, muttering, "I'm gonna need another drink."

As she started to pour herself more champagne, the ringing of a cell phone came from the direction of a bedroom at the back. Meg ignored it, and it seemed she planned to _keep _ignoring it, as long as it took for it to stop ringing. "You gonna answer that?" Sawyer asked, irritated.

Glaring at him, she slammed the bottle back down and headed toward the back, as if this was her least favorite thing in the world to do.

Kate pulled a scrap out of the pan the turkey had cooked in. "Here," she said. "Break the wishbone with me. First you make a wish, and then whoever gets the longest piece gets theirs granted."

Sawyer thought for a second, with a mysterious air.

"And don't wish for anything dirty," Kate added.

"Hey, now," he said. "You don't get to make the rules."

"_Pull_," she said, smiling. He grabbed the other side of the delicate juncture of bones, and they pulled. The two pieces split with an audible crack, and Kate leaned over to see who had the longer half. In disbelief, she shook her head. " They're _exactly _the same size. That never happens."

"So who gets their wish?" Sawyer wondered.

"I don't know," she said. "Either we both do, or neither one of us does, I guess."

They looked at each other, both wondering what the other had wished but not daring to ask. Just then, Meg came back into the room. "It's for you," she told Kate.

"_What_?"

"The phone. I left it on the bed."

Kate glanced down at Sawyer, bewildered. Was this some kind of joke? But Meg seemed perfectly serious, and she picked up her glass of champagne again. "You're using up my minutes," she said, impatiently.

Deciding to just get the phone and solve the mystery for herself, Kate headed back to the tiny master bedroom, her heart pounding and her palms sweaty. If it was somebody hunting her down, then Meg had already given away the fact that she was with her. How could she do that? Nervous, Kate picked up the cell phone, listening for a second before she spoke. "Hello?" she finally said, tentatively.

"Hey!" The female voice was enthusiastic and young. "What's up?"

Kate's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I'm sorry..." she said. "But I don't..."

"Oh my God, it's only been, like, three weeks! Have you forgotten me already?"

With an immense flood of relief, Kate suddenly recognized the voice. She laughed silently, sinking down on the edge of the bed. "_Casey_," she said.

"_Yeah_," the girl said, like it was obvious. "You gave me this number, remember?"

"I remember," Kate said, still smiling. "Is everything okay?"

"That's what I was calling to let you know. I was just gonna tell that lady, so she could tell you.. but I didn't know you'd actually _be there_."

"We just got here yesterday, actually. It's... it's been a long trip."

"_I'll bet_," Casey said, emphasizing the words. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that... That everything's okay. With me, I mean." She paused, lowering her voice. "He's, um... He's in jail. And they're getting a divorce. Mom says I won't ever have to see him again. We're even moving to South Carolina, where my cousins live. They have this giant house right on the beach, with _their own pool table_," she said in awe.

Kate felt tears threatening to rise, and she closed her eyes tightly. "That's wonderful," she said. "I'm so happy things worked out." She spoke past the aching tightness in her throat. "Your mom... She must really care about you." _To choose you over him_, were the bitter words she stopped herself from saying.

"Yeah," Casey said, quietly. "I'm so glad you told me to talk to her." She paused for a second, then asked, "So... What about you?"

"What _about _me?" Kate asked.

"I mean, are you still... throwing up all the time?"

Kate smiled. "No. Not anymore. But thanks for asking."

"Good," Casey said with relief. "Because your friend or whatever was _really _worried that day at the gas station. I've never seen anybody so obsessed with finding the right crackers."

This information caught Kate's attention, and she couldn't help asking in a soft voice, "He was... _worried_?"

"He was _totally _freaking out," Casey confirmed. "He even asked _me _if I thought you were gonna be all right. I'm pretty sure that's the only time I've ever been consulted for medical advice." She seemed to find this funny.

Smiling sadly, Kate said, "Well, things are better now."

"Glad to hear it." Casey sighed, dramatically. "Well, I guess I should go. I'm freezing my ass off out here at this pay phone. And anyway, that lady who answered told me not to waste her minutes. She sounds _mean_."

"She _is_," Kate agreed.

"So anyway, tell what's-his-name I said Happy Thanksgiving. And that I still have the sunglasses. Only I broke one lens, but I'm gonna get it fixed. If I can."

"I'll tell him," Kate said, trying not to laugh. "And thank you for calling."

"Thanks for not taking me with you," Casey said.

"Take care," Kate whispered.

"Bye."

After she hung up, Kate sat there for a minute, staring into space. She could hear Sawyer and Meg arguing about something towards the front, but the only word she could make out was _Elvis_, which couldn't be right, could it? She felt so tired, all of a sudden. It had been one hell of a long day. But it still wasn't over. Forcing herself to get up, she went to rejoin the two of them in the kitchen area.

* * *

When everything had been washed and put away, Meg announced that she was going for a walk around the campsite, and that she might stop at the shower facilities while she was out, so they shouldn't expect her back anytime soon. She seemed to give Kate a meaningful look when she said this, but Sawyer supposed it could have been his imagination. In any case, Kate didn't respond to it.

Sawyer sat down at the small table again, out of lack of any other options. Kate slid into the booth across from him. They looked at each other for a second, enjoying the feeling of being alone again.

"Don't suppose you want to take advantage of this unexpected privacy, by any chance, do you Freckles?" Sawyer offered with raised eyebrows.

Kate rolled her eyes. "How can you even think about that right now, after all we ate?"

Smiling, he said, "Tell you the truth, I can't. Just hard to break the habit." He leaned back against the booth, stretching lazily. "So... Where's the fruits of this big shopping trip you were supposed to go on today? I don't see nothin' new around here."

She lowered her gaze to the table, as if she were nervous about something. "We... didn't actually go shopping," she said in a quiet voice.

Sawyer narrowed his eyes a little, confused. "Then what the hell'd you spend all that time doin'? You were gone damn near four hours. You guys get matching tattoos? "

Without smiling, Kate raised her head to look at him for a second, apparently trying to come to some kind of decision. Her eyes scanned his features, studying him. Finally, she took a deep breath and let it out, preparing herself, and then reached behind her for her coat which was slung over the back of the booth. Sawyer watched, curious. She took something out of the pocket and glanced at it, then put it flat on the table and slid it across to him.

He stared down at the object. It was the size of a Polaroid picture, composed of nothing but a mixture of blurry black and white images. He had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to be seeing here. Looking up at Kate again with a puzzled expression, he said, "What is it? Some kinda _abstract art_? Because I gotta tell you, sweetheart, I ain't really a big fan of the stuff. A chimp coulda painted that."

Now Kate smiled, biting her lip a little. "Look closer," she urged him.

Sighing in annoyance at her cryptic manner, he examined the picture again. The black swirled around the outside like a vortex, while the white was mostly concentrated in the center, in the shape of a deformed jelly bean. The image was vaguely familiar, and he thought that he should recognize it, somehow. _It almost looked like one of those..._ Suddenly, with a feeling as if someone had kicked him in the gut, he realized what it was he was holding. Shocked, he looked back at Kate, seeking confirmation. She was watching him with a gentle, almost sad, expression. Now she pointed to the white spot in the middle of the picture, her fingertip just barely tapping the surface. "That's it," she said, just above a whisper. "See it? It's about the size of a peanut."

He didn't know what to say. This all seemed to be happening too fast, even though he felt like he'd been waiting forever. For a second, he was afraid he might faint. "Then it's really in there?" he asked, his mouth feeling dry.

She nodded, just barely. "It's really in there," she repeated, with a tired smile.

He couldn't think of what to say next. "She dragged you to a _doctor_?" he finally managed to get out. "That's where you went?"

"It was my idea, mostly. It needed to be done."

The look on Sawyer's face was somehow guilty. "I shoulda been there with you."

Kate shook her head, absolving him. "Be glad you weren't. It was pretty boring. Not at all like it is on TV." She seemed somehow amused by this. "And most of the time we were just in the waiting room, anyway, with a bunch of fat ladies and screaming kids. You would have been miserable."

"Still..." he said. "Hate to think of you havin' to go through that with _Meg_, of all people."

"It wasn't that bad. Did you know she used to be a nurse?"

Sawyer gave a weary-sounding scoff. "_Yeah_. And let me tell ya, if there's anybody you don't want takin' your temperature, it's her. Took me almost thirty years to get rid of _those _memories," he said with a shudder.

Kate laughed a little. "I can imagine."

Returning to the topic of the conversation, Sawyer grew more serious, almost worried. "So... What'd they say?"

In a slow, halting voice, as if she couldn't quite get used to talking about this out loud, she told him, "The doctor said... that everything's... good. I'm healthy, and... the heartbeat was strong." She glanced at him quickly at these last words, and then down at her hands again. "She gave me some more vitamins, and some stuff to read... to help me know what to expect. I haven't really looked at it yet. But she was nice."

His relief at these words was almost embarrassing to him. Swallowing hard, he decided to press ahead before he changed his mind. "Is it a, uh..." He paused. "Is it a boy, or a...?" The question trailed off as he watched Kate, hopelessly.

She gave him a soft, understanding look. "It's way too early for that," she almost whispered.

"Oh," he said, feeling like a complete idiot. Of _course _it was too early for that. And why did he want to know, anyway? It wasn't the kind of thing he was supposed to want to know. He felt like he was turning into somebody he didn't recognize.

Reaching over, Kate covered her hand with his, squeezing a little bit, as if she sensed the disorientation of his thoughts. "It's due in the summer," she told him. "July, probably."

He cocked his head to the side, absorbing this with an ironic, pleased expression. "My birthday's in July," he drawled quietly.

"I know," Kate said with a secretive smile.

Then they broke eye contact, as if they were treading too close to dangerous territory. Nothing could compare with the strangeness of this moment - of this entire conversation. It was like acting in a play that they hadn't attended the dress rehearsal for.

"So," Sawyer began again after an interval of silence. "Are we really gonna do this? I mean, you're gonna have it.. and we'll..." He hesitated. "We'll keep it and everything?"

"Is that what you want?" She didn't meet his eyes.

Staring at her hard, he said, "Pretty sure you already know what I want. I'm askin' _you_."

She turned her head toward the window, watching the rapidly falling dusk. The RV was parked in a different spot now, so that this side faced the hill that led down to the creek. As she looked out, Sawyer saw, with dread, the door begin to close down over her features. That familiar door that he was getting so used to, the one that left him stranded, alone on the other side, unable to find a key or even a doorknob, barely able to summon the strength to knock. She was retreating back to the place where she felt safe, the place where she could mull over the past and hunker down with what she knew, rather than facing what might come. Her face assumed a blank, withdrawn look. "A lot can happen in seven months," she said, evasive. "We'll see."

It was exactly what he'd expected her to say, and he couldn't help hating her a little for it. "You're probably right about that," he agreed with a touch of disdain. "But if it's all the same to you, I think I'd rather hear your answer _now_." His voice had a threatening edge to it which he didn't like, but it crept in without him willing it. "Would you look at me, please?"

She closed her eyes briefly, resisting. "Sawyer..." She sounded tired.

"_Look at me_," he repeated, slowly.

Opening her lids, she stared first at his chest, but then gradually brought her eyes up to meet his. As he locked gazes with her, challenging her, something incredible happened. It was so unexpected that it scared him a little. The change came over her face by degrees, and as he watched, the door that kept him out opened again. More precisely, it didn't just open - it was torn off its hinges. Suddenly, for the first time since this pregnancy had come between them, she was looking at him with no barriers. He didn't know whether he'd caused it, or whether she'd allowed it to happen. But it was like having the old Kate back again after an extended absence, and he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her. His anger evaporated immediately. Now he remembered why he'd been willing to lay down his life for her. Out of all the billions of people on this planet, she was the one - the _only _one - who mattered at all to him. And the reason for that was the way she was looking at him right now.

"_Yeah_, I want it," she said, with a fierce pain that he could feel emanating from her. "I want us to have this. I want us to have something normal, and safe, and... and _good_, for once in our lives. But..." She stopped, and her eyes took on a faraway, fearful cast, not as if she were avoiding the future, but as if she were staring straight at it for the first time. Without looking away from him, she uttered the last words in a hoarse, shaking whisper of such vulnerable intensity that it rattled him to the core. "_I'm so... scared_."

She held his gaze for a few more seconds, and then her features began to crumple. She raised a hand up, partially covering her face. Sawyer noticed, as if in a dream where things moved in slow motion, how beautiful her fingers were.

He watched her, feeling whatever had just broken inside her reverberating in himself as well. It was like they were connected by an invisible cord, and one end couldn't be disturbed without the shock waves traveling the length and making themselves felt at the opposite end. Had he ever heard her say those words before? Had she _ever _told him that she was scared? The truth was so obvious, but had she ever _once _admitted it?

With the sensation that he was moving underwater, he lifted up the flimsy tabletop and latched it onto its hook between the two windows, clearing the space between them. He moved over to her side, taking her shoulders and drawing her toward him. She offered absolutely no resistance at all, letting him fold her body into his. He felt her small frame vibrating with the kind of sobs that are so painful they don't even make any sound, her face hidden warmly against his chest. Wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he could without cutting off her breath, he pressed his lips hard against the space where her shoulder joined her neck, then against her ear. "I know," he whispered. Even through the veil of despair that cloaked this moment, he felt like celebrating, like hollering out his relief and triumph and gratitude. There was no going back, now. Her words had opened up a terrifying vista that they couldn't turn their backs on. They were in a new place, with an unfamiliar, exhilarating landscape.

He pulled her even closer, wanting to hold her for as long as he possibly could. "_I know_."


	24. Chapter 24

I have a feeling there's something I'm forgetting to respond to, or some question I'm neglecting to answer, but my brain is so fried right now after finishing this chapter that, for the life of me, I can't remember what it is. I do want to gave a big thank-you to both **Erica **and **Mindy**, who have given me invaluable information about Canada for this and upcoming chapters, saving me a TON of research time. I really appreciate their assistance! ;)

As always, thank you a million times over for reviewing. This fic will probably be somewhere between 30 and 35 chapters, so I hope you'll all stick with me to the end!

* * *

**Chapter 24**

Not much sleeping was accomplished during the night after Kate's long-awaited admission of fear. When they went to bed, they pulled the curtain closed, shutting themselves into darkness together. Their hands and lips roamed at will, touching and caressing and exploring with a kind of startled delight, as if they hadn't already done this countless times before, as if it felt new. The pitch blackness heightened and amplified the other senses, redirecting the unused intensity of the eyes into the skin, where it was most needed. Kate felt the warm, welcoming weight of Sawyer pressing down on her, covering her completely. There was no prolonged attempt to tease her tonight; instead he devoted himself exclusively to what she needed. His rhythm was so attuned to even her most minute responses that she wondered how on earth he did it. It was like he had some kind of sexual ESP, and at times she had to clench his hair tight in her fists and grit her teeth in order not to cry out. It was bad enough that they were crammed into this RV with Meg at such close quarters. Kate certainly didn't want to have to listen to any sly comments in the morning about all the racket they'd made.

In between bouts of lovemaking, they rested and talked. Close up against each other in the darkness, they let themselves, for the first time, speak whatever words came into their heads, without any sidestepping of awkward barriers. They learned things about each other they'd never known. Obscure, hidden recesses of their lives were revealed, not by accident, or through argument, or by calculated design like usual, but through simple, unadorned communication. Even relatively recent events finally came to light. Kate admitted that she'd suspected the truth about the pregnancy all the way back before Halloween, and that she'd been annoyed when her hints weren't picked up on. Sawyer told her about what she'd said under the influence of the sleeping pills in Iowa, and his anger the following day finally made sense to her.

For the most part, though, their talk wasn't centered on the past, but on the days and weeks and months, and terrifyingly, even the _years _ahead. They talked about what they wanted the future to look like, and also what they feared it _might _look like, if things took a wrong turn. In detail, they went over topics ranging from who would deliver the baby (Kate still refused to consider Jack) to how they would survive in such isolation without eventually driving each other insane (they decided that lots of sex would be the key) to how many years Kate could conceivably get if she did have to serve a prison term. Her voice shook with emotion on this subject, but she forged ahead anyway, gripping Sawyer's hand, their fingers interlaced. They talked about what would happen to the baby in that situation, and the steps they would take to maintain custody, and the devastation they would have to face if it wasn't possible. They decided they would eventually ask Meg to be the godmother, so that if the worst happened, she might be able to take care of the child for them.

In a darker vein, they admitted to themselves that it was probably selfish to keep the baby, considering who they were, what they had to face. It was crazy, to tell the truth. Did any child deserve to have them as parents? Didn't they have the potential to poison a life the way their own lives had been poisoned by _their _parents? The idea was horrifying. But neither of them had ever claimed to be altruists. They wanted what belonged to them. So, selfish or not, they were going to keep it, because it was _theirs_. Because they'd created it, and it was _part _of them, and they couldn't just let it go without a fight. They'd gone through too much to give anything up willingly. If the kid turned out to be anything like them, then maybe someday it would understand that.

These and a hundred other hopes and fears were finally, gratefully released and dealt with. Sawyer couldn't believe the turnaround in Kate, and he was afraid to let her go to sleep even when she was clearly exhausted. He worried that it would all be gone in the morning, that she would retreat back into her shell as if this had only been some kind of lucid dream that could occur once and never again. But eventually, neither of them could hold their eyes open, and they gave in to a sound, all-encompassing sleep, still not letting go of each other. For this night at least, the smallness of the bed was welcome.

Sawyer was the first one to wake up the next morning, the jolting of the RV as Meg drove over the curb at a gas station nearly throwing him out of the bed. He cast a jealous glance at Kate, who still slept, then got dressed and went inside the station and bought a box of doughnuts for breakfast, wondering if there was any chance she would eat something like this. The harder he tried not to focus on his apprehensions regarding how she would act after everything they'd talked about last night, the more he dwelt on it. He considered waking her up just to end the suspense, but he knew it would be a bad idea.

Mercifully, however, he didn't have long to wait. As he stepped back up into the camper, Kate was just emerging from the bedroom area at the back, her face still puffy and creased. They both paused on seeing each other, their eyes meeting. She had the unprotected, disarmed look of somebody who had just emerged from a deep sleep and hadn't yet fully recognized her surroundings. As she looked at Sawyer, her features relaxed into openness, and she smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears. He could see that she was no longer guarding anything. "Morning," she said.

He let his breath out with inaudible relief. "Hey. Got us some doughnuts," he said, almost embarrassed by how thankful he felt towards her. He tossed the box onto the table and lowered his gaze to it, awkwardly.

Kate approached, stopping just in front of him. "You know," she said, in a confidential tone. "I think I'm supposed to be eating healthier now."

He gave her a charming smirk. "Well then, you're damn lucky you got me around, Freckles, 'cause I already thought of that." He pulled back the top of the box. "See? This half don't have sprinkles."

She laughed, and then nodded, biting her lip. "What would I do without you?" she asked jokingly.

"Hell if I know," he said, grasping her hips and pulling her closer. Still smiling, she leaned up to kiss him. Then she froze, peeking over his shoulder as Meg stepped up into the interior with a styrofoam cup of coffee.

"So I see the princess has awakened," she said. "How's your asthma?"

Kate glanced at Sawyer, confused, then back at Meg. "What asthma?"

"Oh, you don't have asthma?" Meg asked, setting her coffee on the counter.

Shaking her head, Kate answered in a slow, uncertain voice. "_No_."

"Well, thank God," Meg said, yanking the refrigerator open. "With all that heavy breathing last night, I thought you must have been having some kind of attack."

Kate closed her eyes for a second, feeling her face redden. She couldn't believe she'd fallen for that.

As Meg tried to suppress a smile of triumph, Sawyer shot her an irritated look. "Maybe that's a sign you oughtta let us have the bedroom... So we could get more _air_."

"Ha!" Meg shouted, pulling an orange out of the refrigerator and bumping the door shut with her hip. "Nice try." She took a knife from a drawer and stabbed it into the orange, then picked up the coffee again with her other hand. "Well," she said, glancing from Kate to Sawyer with a hint of excitement. "I feel like driving. Anybody want to go to the Yukon?"

Kate smiled a little, finding it for some reason impossible to stay mad at this woman for long. "Yeah," she said. "Let's go."

"All right then," Meg replied almost gently, giving Kate a meaningful look, understanding that the demons had been dealt with. Turning toward the front, she called, "I'll take the first shift. James, you're up next!"

The motor of the RV rumbled into life, and Kate grabbed Sawyer for balance as the tires jolted and bounced over another curb on the way out to the road.

* * *

Over the next few days, they threaded their way west across the prairies of central Canada, taking turns at the wheel. To Kate's relief, the RV didn't seem to have any preconceived favoritism like the truck had, and she was just as capable of driving it as Meg and Sawyer were. (In her mind, she was much _better _at driving it, but she prudently neglected to mention this opinion to them.)

Although they could have taken shifts and driven through the night to shorten their traveling time, Meg opted against this, and each evening, as it became dark, they settled into a motor camp in order to get cleaned up and sleep. This made Kate a bit antsy, since she was anxious to reach safety as soon as possible, but Meg was determined that they wouldn't rush. In a manner that seemed uncharacteristic for her, she seemed to be regarding this journey as the belated family vacation that she'd never taken. She became a chronic sightseer, stopping at every roadside attraction, no matter how boring or tacky. She dragged an unwilling Kate and Sawyer to national landmarks and into gift shops. She blew money on the most worthless crap she could find, like decorated key chains and shot glasses. When she came across an infant-sized t-shirt with a moose on the front of it, she cackled in glee, and, despite Kate's protests, she bought it for her.

At one point, they found themselves at a horse race. Apparently Meg's vow to stop gambling only applied to casinos. Although all three of them put money down, Kate was the only one to win anything. Sawyer's horse came in dead last. "I hope they shoot the damn thing," he muttered under his breath. Kate laughed in delight as she counted out her cash in front of him, gloating.

The two of them soon became experts at slipping away to be alone together whenever they got the chance. In a natural history museum, Kate spotted a janitor's closet and whispered to Sawyer that she wanted to see where he used to work. At first he thought she was insane, until he realized she just wanted to fool around in it. Then he willingly complied. Kate was more than happy to spend the next twenty minutes backed into a corner with her wrists pinned above her head and one foot balanced on a mop cart. When they caught up with Meg at a glass display case filled with spears and arrowheads, she gave them a suspicious look. "Where'd you go?"

"We... went to see the mammoth exhibit," Kate said, raising a hand in a vain attempt to conceal her neck, wondering if it was still red from the scratchiness of Sawyer's stubble.

"Hm," Meg said flatly. "And how was it?"

"It was... _impressive_," she said, casting a sideways glance at Sawyer. He gave Meg a closed-mouthed smile, making his eyes crinkle in a blatantly smart-ass way.

Arching one eyebrow, Meg examined him for a second and then spoke to Kate. "Well, you're young, sweetheart. Probably haven't seen that many other mammoths to _compare _it to." Giving Sawyer a smile that was an exact replica of his own, she turned and headed into the next room.

Sawyer looked at Kate, not sure whether he should be offended or not. "What the hell was that supposed to mean?"

Kate stared after Meg, trying not to laugh. "Nothing," she said, not meeting his eyes. "She just really likes museums." Before he had a chance to reply, she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the next exhibit.

Not only did Meg force them to stop at nearly every tourist location, she also developed the obnoxious habits of a tourist, like chronic picture-taking. In Ontario, she bought a digital camera and a portable photo printer. Although it took her nearly five hours at night to figure out how the things worked, once she did, there was no stopping her.

"I really don't like having my picture taken," Kate complained.

"That's just because it's usually for a mug shot," Meg told her, without sympathy. "You'll get used to it."

Sawyer, of course, hated it even more than Kate, and he did everything he could to avoid the stupid camera. Meg was relentless, though, and she usually managed to capture both of them when they were wrapped up in each other, oblivious to outside influences. While staring into each others' eyes or preparing to kiss, they would suddenly hear the telltale _click_, and would turn fast to see Meg making her getaway, smiling and proud of herself for catching them yet again. The more pissed they got, the more she seemed to enjoy her new hobby.

When Kate caught sight of a few of these photos after they'd been developed, she was startled and a bit embarrassed by the naked, undisguised intensity on her own face. She was used to seeing this expression in Sawyer's features, but she hadn't realized her own mirrored it so closely. "I look like I'm getting ready to pounce on him," she muttered self-consciously.

"Well," Meg said. "Weren't you?"

Kate passed the picture back to her without answering.

As annoying as it was to stretch out their journey when they were so close to their goal, Kate had to admit to herself that it was nice to be doing normal things again for once. She was still extremely cautious, and she wouldn't go anywhere where there were crowds, but since it was the off-season for tourism, they didn't have to worry about this too much. She felt herself relaxing and she was able to enjoy herself in a way she hadn't even attempted for the past few weeks. The closer they got to reaching their destination, the more she let her guard down.

Not only did Kate relax emotionally, but a distinct physical tiredness came over her as well, as if it had been lying in wait all these weeks on the road, seeking a chance to catch up with her. Even when she slept well all night, she would have to fight the urge to nod off during the day, particularly in the mid-afternoon. Since she'd always had energy to spare, she couldn't figure it out. At first she and Sawyer were worried that she might be getting sick, but then they looked in one of the pamphlets the doctor had given her and discovered that fatigue was normal for the first trimester. Kate had a hard time getting used to saying the word _trimester_. It seemed to stick in her throat. She tried to get Sawyer to say it too, but he wouldn't.

In fact, something strange seemed to be going on with Sawyer. The more they planned for the future and talked about the pregnancy, the more this peculiar attitude seemed to affect him. The hints were so vague and subtle at first that Kate was hardly even aware of them. But there was a particular look that would settle over his face at certain moments, a look that she didn't know precisely how to interpret. It was an odd amalgamation of worry, dread, and something like bitterness. She'd seen this look before, of course, but it had always been easy to determine the reason for it. Now, it was almost like he wasn't even conscious of it himself. She assumed that he was tired of being cooped up in the RV for so many hours a day, and that so much exposure to Meg was probably about to make him lose his mind. He was still, at base, a solitary, irritable person, and she suspected that this attempt at togetherness by his aunt was more than he could really be expected to put up with. What never crossed Kate's mind was that the mysterious mood could have anything to do with her.

Toward the end of the following week, they crossed into northeastern British Columbia and caught their first glimpse of the Rocky Mountains. The sharp, jagged peaks thrust themselves up toward the sky imposingly, towering against the horizon. Snow could be seen on the tops of most of them. The landscape was one of rugged contrasts and piercing, almost overwhelming beauty. The vistas, the mountains, the rivers and lakes - everything was grandiose and larger than life. As magnificent as it was, Kate felt a peculiar ache of longing for the more homely, gentle scale of the Appalachians they'd started out from, with their rounded tops and sloping, shaded glades and valleys. This place made her feel a bit small and insignificant. But maybe that was good, since what she needed most was to disappear. In any case, it was going to be home now, if things turned out like she hoped, so she would have to learn to love it. Sawyer, after glancing out at the view a few times, seemed bored and resigned. He still would have preferred a beach in Mexico.

On Wednesday afternoon, during Meg's shift at the wheel, Kate was lying on the narrow couch in the living area of the vehicle with a booklet in her hands, her head resting in Sawyer's lap. His shoes were off, and his feet were up on a chair in front of him. He was pretending that he was fascinated by an infomercial for what the announcer termed was "the most powerful _legal _cleaning agent to come on the market in North America!" Kate was trying to redirect his attention.

"Okay, number fourteen," she said. "True or false: _It is best to avoid jacuzzis and hot tubs during the entire nine months of pregnancy_." She lowered the booklet and looked up at Sawyer, thoughtfully. "That's got to be false, right? I mean, it sounds like a myth."

"You really believe that stuff can eat through rust like that?" he asked in a distracted tone, staring at the TV.

"Sawyer."

He glanced down at her, sighing. "False. Gotta be false."

She lifted the booklet again and flipped a few pages toward the back, then shook her head, annoyed. "It's true. _Damn it_. We haven't got one right yet."

"Really bodes well, don't it?" he muttered under his breath, that look coming over his face again.

"Let's try the next one," she said, not willing to give up. "It's multiple choice. Number fifteen: _It is perfectly safe to maintain normal sexual relations with your partner until A.) the third month... B.) the fifth month... C.) the eighth month..., or D.)as long as you feel comfortable with it_." She looked at Sawyer, concerned. This was an issue that, as unlikely as it seemed, somehow hadn't occurred to them yet.

His expression was one of almost comically exaggerated worry. "For the love of God, _please _let it be D."

She hurriedly flipped to the answer section, then breathed out in relief. "It's D," she said. They both took a few seconds to appreciate the impact of this news. Kate added, "We finally got one right."

"Point for us," he said sarcastically.

Kate closed the booklet and lowered it to her chest, closing her eyes. "Let's finish it later."

She felt Sawyer's hand on her forehead, smoothing her hair back. "Tired?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said quietly, still not opening her eyes.

The motion of the RV gradually slowed and came to a stop, and a few seconds later Meg appeared from around the partition that separated the driver's and passenger's seats from the rest of the interior. "All right, that's it for me this time around," she said with finality. "Who's up?"

"It's my turn," Kate said. She lifted her head from Sawyer's legs and started to pull herself up.

"I got this one," he said quickly, stopping her.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I can do it."

"You can take the next one, sassafras. I know you're probably itchin' to drive us off a cliff somewhere in a blaze a' glory."

She gave him a wry smile as he headed toward the front, then she turned toward Meg as they pulled back onto the road and began to pick up speed again.

"_What_?" Kate asked. She'd now known this woman long enough to know when she wanted to say something unpleasant. Which, if you wanted to be technical, was most of the time.

"What's in the book?" Meg asked.

Kate glanced down at it. "It's a quiz. We're supposed to take it to see how ready we are for pregnancy."

"And how ready are you?"

"Well..." Kate said. "Out of fifteen questions, we only got one right. And it was the one about sex."

Meg seemed amused by this, but not surprised. She leaned back against the cushion, crossing her hands behind her head. "You're really doin' a fine job of scaring the hell out of him, aren't you?"

Kate turned toward her, not understanding. "_Scaring _him? What are you talking about?"

"You mean to tell me you haven't noticed? Hell, if anybody's gonna drive us off a cliff, I imagine it'll be him, not you."

"He's just... He feels a little suffocated, I think, traveling like this. That's all." Kate sounded firmly convinced.

Meg raised her eyebrows and looked away. "If you say so."

Sitting up straighter, annoyed now, Kate stared at her. "I can't believe you. _You're_ the one who told me I should get everything out in the open... That we should talk about all this stuff, and plan ahead. And now you tell me I'm _scaring _him? How do you think I feel? If I have to face it, then so does he."

"Of course you both have to face it," Meg said, completely unruffled by Kate's tone. "But it wouldn't hurt to take things one step at a time. See, sweetheart, the thing about men... and this goes for the Ford men in particular... is that they _think _they know what they want... until they _get it_. Then it's a whole new ballgame."

"Then what are you saying I should do? Go back to the way things were? Just... pretend it isn't happening?" Kate's voice was angry, but she deliberately tried to keep it low so that Sawyer wouldn't overhear. "Because I can't do that again."

"What I'm saying you should do is put those damn pamphlets away before you make yourselves so paranoid that it rubs off on the kid. Nobody knows what the hell they're doing in the first few months. Give yourselves some time to adjust to it. That little thing in there is tougher than you think... It ain't goin' nowhere."

Kate shook her head in disbelief. Was she actually hearing this? It was almost the opposite of the advice she'd been given last week. "You're crazy," she told Meg. "You know that?"

Laughing a little, Meg answered, "I'm not crazy. I'm just older and smarter than you."

Kate stood up, exhausted all of a sudden. "I'm gonna go lie down. Tell Sawyer to wake me up when we stop to eat."

Meg watched her go, with the faintest trace of affectionate sympathy on her face.

An hour or so later, Kate was awakened, not by the prospect of food, but by the sharp, jerky movements of Sawyer trying to keep the RV on the road when a tire blew out. Luckily, he got it under control and managed to swing onto the shoulder. After he checked to make sure she was okay, he located the spare tire and the jack that somebody had had the foresight to store in the vehicle before Meg bought it.

"Do you need some help?" she asked, following him outside and around to the back.

"You know how to change a tire?" he asked, a little surprised.

"_Everyone _knows how to change a tire," Kate said.

Sawyer scoffed. "I can see you haven't been around the same kinda girls I have."

She decided it would be wisest to leave that comment alone. While he attached the jack in place underneath the frame, she shaded her eyes against the sunset and looked into the valley below the ridge they were on. They'd broken down just on the outskirts of a small town clustered in a hollow in the mountains. From here, it looked like a postcard.

Sawyer jacked the body of the RV up enough to get the tire off, working up a sweat in the process. Kate watched with interest, enjoying the sight as she always did. She attached a hollow pipe to the tire iron, then handed it to him. He crouched down and started loosening the lug nuts. With a worried sense that maybe Meg had been right, she decided to draw him out a little, to test him. If it was true that he was starting to get cold feet, then she wanted to know. She couldn't rightfully be angry unless she was sure.

Kneeling beside him, she glanced down toward the town again, then said thoughtfully, "I was thinking about what it'll be like when we get up there."

He glanced at her, then back at the tire. "Thinkin' about _what_, exactly?"

"Well, Meg says she thinks this guy lives in some kind of underground bunker. She doesn't know how big it is, but we can't just stay with a stranger, even if he _does _have space."

Sawyer kept loosening the nuts. He didn't answer.

"So we'll probably have to build our own house."

This got his attention. "Build a _house_?" he asked, like she was crazy.

"Assuming he'll let us use part of the property," she went on. "If he doesn't want to let us have it for free, then maybe we could buy it, or pay rent, or something. I just hope there'll be enough money for that _and _building. But the thing is, even if we start construction as soon as possible... in the spring, after the thaw... I still don't think there's any way we could have it finished before the baby's born in July."

She watched him closely to gauge the effect of these words. That expression of mild panic appeared on his face again. He was trying to pull the tire from the wheel, but it was stuck. Yanking on it with excessive force, he seemed to be taking out his frustration on the shredded circle of rubber. "Come on, you piece of shit," he growled. Finally, it popped off the wheel and went flying across the road and down into the ditch on the other side. Kate watched it silently. She felt like crying.

Sawyer let his breath out heavily, staring after the tire. He ran his fingers through his hair in a stressed-out gesture. After a few seconds he picked up the spare and began fitting it onto the frame. Kate waited, not saying anything.

"We can just start with a couple of rooms," he finally said, glancing at her. He sounded calmer now, and somewhat sheepish.

Kate looked up, surprised. "What?"

"We don't have to have the whole damn thing done before we move into it. Just enough space for us and..." he paused. "And the kid. We can always add more later."

Now she felt tears stinging her eyes again, but from a different source this time. She gave him a small, grateful smile. "That'll work," she said. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. They were both scared, of course. But there was really no going back now, was there?

As Sawyer finished tightening up the bolts on the new tire, they were both distracted by a loud rumbling across the road and halfway down the valley. A group of motorcycles had just skidded into the parking lot of a building, obviously a bar. In the semi-darkness, its windows were lit with neon signs. Loud whoops and hollers drifted up to them as the men entered the place.

"You know, I used to ride one of those," Kate said.

Sawyer gave her an incredulous look. "Like hell you did."

"I'm serious!" she said, amused. "A few years ago. Mostly I just did it to piss my mom off. It wasn't really as fun as I thought it would be. I was always swallowing bugs."

Sawyer shook his head. "You're just full of surprises, aren't ya, Freckles?" He worked the crank of the jack to lower the RV back down to the ground. Glancing over his shoulder at the building, he asked, "You want to go down there later?"

She wrinkled her nose slightly. "To the bar? Not really."

"And why not?"

She sighed. "If we do, are you gonna take a swing at every guy that looks at me?"

He didn't even have to consider this. "_Yeah_," he said, like it was obvious.

"_That's _why not," she said, smiling. After a pause, she looked up at him. "You should go, though. It would do you good, to get away for awhile."

He didn't look like he entirely trusted these words, although she could tell he was tempted. "You sure about that?" he asked.

"Yeah," Kate said. "Go. Have a few drinks, flirt with the waitress... do whatever you have to do. I'll be fine, here."

And although he still didn't seem completely convinced, she could tell that he would eventually take her up on the offer. It was a few hours later when he finally made his decision, after they'd eaten and pulled into a park for the night that was only a couple of yards up the road from where they'd broken down earlier. Kate did her best to make sure he didn't have any guilt about leaving. She only asked him to try not to get into any fights. Meg asked him to try not to get anybody else pregnant.

With these words of advice ringing in his ears, he gratefully made his escape from the RV, promising Kate that he'd be back in a few hours. She watched as he crossed the road and started down the hill toward the town, then she went back inside, determined that she wouldn't let herself feel any ridiculous self-pity. She was above all that. It had been her idea. She'd _wanted _him to go. He deserved to have at least one more night of normalcy before they went into seclusion together. She didn't let herself think about what she deserved. It didn't matter, anyway.

Meg went out for a walk and to buy cigarettes, so Kate went to bed at about 10:30. There wasn't much else to do. She assumed that Sawyer would be back before midnight, anyway. No point in waiting up. After she'd been dozing for awhile, she heard the door open and heavy footsteps climb into the interior. Pulling herself out of bed, she went to greet him, but to her disappointment, it was only Meg. Glancing quickly at the clock, she saw that it was just after 1:00.

"Not back yet?" Meg asked, seeing the look on her face.

Kate hated that she could be so easily read. "He'll be back soon. I was just getting some water."

Seeing through the lie, Meg for once didn't call her out on it. "Well, I'm gonna turn in. See you in the morning."

"Night," Kate said. She was grateful when the door of the tiny bedroom closed behind Meg. Peeking out the window, she saw that the town was darker now, the lights scattered and far-between. From where they were parked, the bar wasn't visible. Without getting herself any water, she went back to bed and tried to sleep.

After another hour of tossing and turning, hovering on the edge of consciousness while at all times alert for the most infinitesimal sound, straining to hear footsteps or the click of the latch on the door, she gave up and got out of bed. It was 2:30 now. She sat down at the kitchen table, resting her hands in front of her and staring at them. She was repressing both anger and fear so well that she wasn't sure which emotion would be the strongest if she let them come to the surface. In order not to find out, she jumped up and flipped the TV on. She settled on a rerun of MASH, simply because the theme song reminded her of the times she'd visited her father at his base in Washington and he'd had this on in the background while attempting to make dinner for her. It was somehow comforting.

At 3:00 the show ended, and a sermon program produced by a local church came on. She turned the set back off, not in the mood to hear about the wages of sin. In the silence of the RV, she found it hard to block her thoughts. She looked out the window again. There was no sign of him. She felt a blaze of anger flare up inside her for an instant. He'd said a _few hours_. Even in Sawyer-speak, that couldn't mean more than four, could it? It had now been almost seven. What the hell was he thinking? How could he do this to her?

Then, lurking behind the anger, the fear that was even worse began to filter in. What if he _had _gotten in a fight, despite what she'd said? What if he was really hurt? He could be hurt so badly that he couldn't even make it back here on his own. He could be slumped bleeding in an alley somewhere. The idea made her sick. But it was still a thousand times better than the _other _fear, the one that she refused to look at head-on, the one that kept trying to sneak up on her when she wasn't paying attention, dodging around the corners of her mind... the one that made her blood run cold. The one that said maybe he wasn't coming back

She hated herself for being so weak and stupid. She should be asleep right now, not worrying about any of this. Because most likely, there wasn't anything to worry about. He'd probably had more to drink than he'd intended, and had lost track of time. It was crazy to doubt him in this way. But no matter what she did now, she knew there'd be no chance of getting back to sleep until he came through the door. She vowed to herself that if he would just open it and come in within the next ten minutes, she would waive all rights to being angry. She wouldn't even say anything about how late he was. If only he would just _walk in_, right now, defensive and drunk and probably horny, then she would forgive everything.

But he didn't. At 4:00, she couldn't sit here any longer. Pulling her coat on over her pajamas, she quickly tied her shoes and went outside. At first she just wandered around the park, staying near the RV. Then she decided since she was out here anyway, it wouldn't hurt to walk down the shoulder of the road to the ridge where the bar could be seen. Maybe he was standing around outside it, smoking. But when she finally reached a point where she could see the building, it seemed deserted, except for one or two cars. Swallowing hard, forgetting that she wasn't even really dressed, she walked down the hill toward the town. When she reached the bottom, she crossed the parking lot of the bar, and without even thinking, grasped the heavy door and went inside.

A man wiping down the counter at the back glanced up, surprised. "Hon, we're closed. Been closed for an hour."

The words were like a punch to the stomach, even though she should have expected them. "Actually," she said, moving toward him with tentative steps. "I'm just looking for somebody. Maybe you can help me."

He now noticed her pajama bottoms, and a small smile touched his lips, as if this wasn't the first time he'd gone through this. "What's he look like?" he asked.

"He's, um... He's pretty tall. Six-one," she said, trying to concentrate. "Dark blonde hair that hangs in his eyes.. He was wearing a black coat."

The bartender behind the counter raised his eyebrows. "Unfortunately, you just described about half the guys who were in here tonight."

Kate knew she needed to be more specific. "He's got a Southern accent... Always sounds like he's pissed off." She added, "He probably gave you a nickname."

From behind her, a voice said, "Yeah, I remember that guy." Kate spun around. A younger man, slightly pudgy and dull-looking, was mopping the floor in one corner. "He called me Corky. Who the hell is Corky?"

Kate had to fight a laugh of relief at the knowledge that she was at least on the right trail. "I don't know," she lied. "When did he leave?"

"That guy?" The kid stopped mopping and scratched his head. "He wasn't here long. Left with a girl around midnight."

Kate stood there, frozen, not knowing what to say. The bartender leveled a pointed glare at the kid. "You sure it's the same man she's talking about?"

"Yeah," the kid said. "Positive. How many Southerners come in here, Joe?"

Kate glanced back at the bartender, who seemed to feel sorry for her. Trying to muster as much dignity as she possibly could under the circumstances, she pulled her coat tighter around her and said, "Thanks. Sorry to bother you."

Feeling as if she were moving through water, she headed back toward the door. As she let it swing closed behind her, she heard the bartender griping at the kid. "You idiot. What the hell'd you tell her that for?"

She didn't know how she managed to make her way back up the hill to the highway, but she was suddenly conscious of a loud honk and a car swerving. She'd almost stepped out into traffic. The vehicle behind the one that had nearly hit her slowed down and she gestured for it to go ahead, but it idled in the road and waited for her to cross. Waving her thanks, she dashed over. On the other side, she cast a look back, noticing that the car was still sitting there. When she tried to peer into the interior, it picked up speed and continued on. Normally this would have concerned her, but at the moment she couldn't seem to focus enough to realize what it might mean.

She climbed back into the RV, quietly, hoping not to wake Meg up. In the dim light from the kitchen sink, she sat down again at the table, listening to the profound silence. It was 4:30 in the morning. She stared straight ahead of her, blankly, not really seeing anything.

At 5:00, the door opened and Sawyer came in.

She watched him, not able to form any immediate reaction. He seemed tired and surprised to see her sitting there, but she could tell right away that he wasn't drunk. It didn't appear that he'd been drinking at all. He looked a bit shamefaced about being so late, but he also seemed satisfied with himself. Pulling something out of his pocket, he laid it on the table in front of her. It was a stack of money.

"Eight thousand there," he said proudly. "Canadian," he added, when she didn't say anything. She slowly dragged her gaze toward the bills, staring at them, too stunned to answer.

Made a little uncomfortable by her quietness, Sawyer tossed his coat over a chair and then moved to the refrigerator and started pulling out breakfast items. "Got it from some chick at the bar. It's for the White Supremacist Fund," he said, clearly amused by this. "She was even nice enough to show me where we can put the headquarters and the offices and everything. Apparently there's a real niche for racism just waitin' to be filled in western Canada. Who woulda thought?" he mused.

Glancing at Kate, who still wasn't responding, he became a little defensive. "_What_? Hell, Freckles, come on! Don't you think anybody that's willin' to give eight thousand bucks to a white supremacist fund _deserves _to have it stolen?"

Finally allowing herself to accept the truth of what was going on here, she pressed her hands over her eyes in relieved, grateful, outraged, frustrated exhaustion. God _damn him_. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to kick him in the balls or throw her arms around his neck. "All this time... You were out _running a con_?" she asked, forming her words carefully. "You said you'd be back in a few hours!"

"Is that what's got you all hot and bothered?" he asked, seeming genuinely astonished. "It ain't like I can plan 'em all out in advance, you know! Sometimes an opportunity presents itself, and you just gotta grab the bull by the horns. Or the white supremacist, as the case may be," he finished with a smirk. When she didn't seem amused, he grew exasperated. "Thought you'd be happy. That money's for the land."

"What _land_?" she asked, honestly having no idea what he was talking about.

He looked at her like she was an idiot. "The land you were goin' on about earlier! For the _house_!" He became sullen, stung by her reaction. "Figure that's enough for a couple acres at least, long as the bastard's fair about it. That way we can keep what we got for the construction and the stuff for the kid."

Now she remembered what he was talking about, and that the whole conversation had just been a design on her part to test him. It hadn't stuck in her mind because she hadn't truly been concerned about the land in the first place. But the important thing was that he'd _thought _she was.

"Sawyer," she began, and then stopped, feeling terrible. This was a complete mess, and it was all her fault. No, it was all _Meg's _fault, she realized, which made her feel a little better. "Thank you. But... I didn't have any idea where you were. You scared me to death! I went down there to that bar looking for you."

She knew immediately that she'd said too much. His eyes actually seemed to change color, turning darker, the way they always did when he was mad. "You did _what_?" he hissed, barely above a whisper.

"What was I supposed to think? For all I knew, you could have been dead in a ditch somewhere!" She realized now that these words sounded stupid and overwrought, and she hated the role she was forced to play here. She'd never considered herself to be the clingy or suspicious type of woman. She valued her independence immensely. But apparently not as much as he valued his.

Sawyer moved toward her, standing just over where she sat at the table. His voice was low and serious. "Let's get one thing straight here, sweetheart. You want me to take care of you, then you're gonna have to let me do it _my way_. Because somehow, I get the feeling that the job market up there in the _Yukon_? Ain't all that hot," he said with carefully controlled sarcasm. "And I hate to be the one to break it to ya, but if you want that kid to eat and get new clothes and maybe even some damn _toys _every once in awhile, then you're gonna have to get used to the fact that this is the way it is. There's gonna be days, maybe even _weeks_, when I'll have to come back down here and make some money for us to survive on. And there's no way in hell you're gonna be followin' me around keepin' tabs. So if you really expect us to make this thing work, then you're gonna have to learn to live like that. Got it?"

He seemed a little afraid that he'd gone too far, but he stared at her, waiting, not retracting anything. She was aware that she was the one being tested now, tested to see how she would react to him finally asserting himself. All the prepared responses were ready within her - the defiance, the indignation, the righteous feminine anger at him daring to tell her how things were going to be. But somehow, she couldn't rally them. She suddenly understood something about him, and more importantly, about _herself_, that she hadn't yet fully comprehended. There was a part of him that needed, that _craved_, to know that he possessed her fully. But the irony was that in her, this craving was instead the need to know that she _didn't _possess him fully. That rebellious, dangerous spark in his eyes was so much a part of him that he would be a diminished version of himself without it. He wouldn't be Sawyer. He wouldn't even be James. He wouldn't be anything.

She knew, deep down, that it wasn't true that conning was the only way for them to support themselves. He was smart - much smarter than most people gave him credit for. He was shrewd, and calculating when he needed to be. There were other ways to make money. He could invest. He could play the stock market. She knew that he'd be good at these things, and plenty of other legal activities. But that wasn't the point. The need to con was deeply ingrained in him, and it was probably something that would never go away. Truthfully, it didn't bother her as much as it used to. Using his own perhaps unconscious methods, he tended to prey now only on the most worthless, soulless people he could find. He was like some kind of twisted Robin Hood, stealing from the scum of the earth. If she was honest with herself, she loved that about him.

As much as she'd been consumed with fear all night, she couldn't bear the thought of him ever being truly tamed. He would never be domesticated. He would never be a model husband and father, even theoretically speaking. And she knew that if that edge - that unpredictable, half-wild, almost savage _gleam _disappeared from his eyes - then she wouldn't feel this same breathless thrill, this racing of the pulse that she felt when he looked at her the way he was looking at her now.

Her breath was a little shaky as she prepared to speak. He was still waiting for her answer. "Okay," she whispered.

If he was either surprised or relieved by this response, he did a good job hiding it. "Okay," he echoed, not lowering his eyes.

The words reminded Kate of something, and it took her a second to place it. Then she realized that it was the same agreement they'd reached when he'd bribed her for their first kiss. It felt like a million years ago. How had they made it from there to here in such a short amount of time? It was as if her whole life had been one long preparation for meeting him.

After a few seconds, the charged intensity died out of the moment. They both seemed tired. Sawyer turned aside to the stove and flung a scoop of butter into a skillet, then cracked an egg in it, a bit clumsily. Kate stood up. "Let me do that," she said, holding her hand out for the spatula.

He cocked his head toward her. "I can fry a damn egg, Freckles."

She smiled. "But I can do it better."

Giving in, he finally passed her the spatula. He didn't sit down, though. Instead, he remained standing right next to her, leaning up against the cabinet, watching her.

Kate glanced out the window above the stove, then at Sawyer. "We're getting really close," she said quietly. "Meg says if we make good time today, we'll cross into Yukon Territory this afternoon."

"Hard to believe, ain't it?" he asked, his eyes traveling over her face lovingly. Leaning nearer, he kissed her neck, then moved around to stand behind her, trailing a path of kisses from her ear down to her shoulder.

She tried to shrug him off, giggling. "You're distracting me," she said.

He ran his fingers lightly along the waistband of her pajamas. "You didn't wear these down to that bar, did you?"

"No," she said.

"You're a liar," he breathed against her neck.

Raising the spatula threateningly, she said, "I've got a weapon at my disposal, here."

"I got somethin' better than that," he drawled, pressing against her. Laughing, she leaned back, allowing him to wrap his arms around her. The grease crackled in the pan and she dropped another egg in, flipping the first one. She suddenly realized how hungry she was.

* * *

From across the park, in a car underneath a tangle of spruce trees, Paul Brennon watched through a pair of binoculars as Kate cooked breakfast for Sawyer and herself.


	25. Chapter 25

I'm SOO sorry this update has been so long in appearing. My life for the past 2 1/2 weeks has been like some crazy sitcom, with weirder and weirder things happening each day to keep me from writing. I keep expecting somebody to jump out from behind a tree with a hidden camera. But _anyway_.. I finally managed to get it finished today! It's been so long since I read the reviews for the last chapter that I can't remember if there were any questions or not, but if there were, remind me again and I'll make sure to address them next update.

Thanks for sticking with me! (And try not to give up on this fic when it gets too dark... I SWEAR the sun will return. ;) )

* * *

**Chapter 25**

The bark of the tree dug into Sawyer's back even through the thick layer of his coat as he leaned against its trunk, waiting. He could have gone inside, but the sharp, frosty air was refreshing to him. After a night without any sleep at all, it helped clear his head. They'd been making good time all day, and they'd crossed the border into Yukon Territory even earlier than expected. It wasn't yet 2:00 in the afternoon. This was the last stop before the real wilderness began, and he and Kate had been determined to stay awake for it. Now he stood gazing down the nearly deserted main street of the sleepy little town, halfheartedly wishing for a cigarette. It occurred to him that if he didn't buy a pack - or better yet, a case - while they were here, then he might not have another chance for months. But still he didn't move. His body felt heavy and lethargic.

After a few minutes the door of a small building across the street swung out, and Meg stepped through it, bracing it with her back to hold it open. Kate followed, with a steaming styrofoam cup in each hand. She was laughing, turning her head over her shoulder to say something to Meg. Sawyer couldn't make out her words, but even from a distance, her smile was like a light in a dark room. He could see the way it made her eyes crinkle above her glowing cheeks. Meg glanced at her watch and answered her, at which Kate nodded and then stepped down off the curb. Meg started up the sidewalk on the other side, while Kate checked for cars and then quickly crossed the street, coming toward Sawyer. He watched her approach, her hair whipping around her face in the wind.

"Here," she said when she reached him, holding out one of the cups.

He took it, thinking it was probably coffee. But the smell was wrong. "What the hell is it?" he asked suspiciously.

"Apple cider," she answered, taking a sip of hers. Wincing, she said, "Careful. It's really hot."

He looked down into the liquid with distaste, but before he could even say anything, Kate told him, "It was all they had in there. So just _try it_ before you start complaining, okay?"

Giving it another whiff, he considered, but then leaned back and looked at her. "Got a better idea."

Mystified, Kate watched him dig into the inner regions of his coat. A few seconds later he came up with a small, flat pocket flask. "_Sawyer_," she said, closing her eyes with a wry grimace. Then she glanced around to make sure nobody was watching. "Since when did you start carrying a _flask_?"

"Since Meg showed up," he said, flashing his dimples. Uncapping the bottle, he tipped it over the cup of cider and added some whiskey. "Thought it might come in handy. And what do you know?" he added, raising his eyebrows at her. "I was right."

She sighed, watching him screw the cap back on.

"Wish I could offer you some, sweet pea," he said almost regretfully.

"You know what, maybe I'll just bend the rules and have some anyway," Kate said, swiftly grabbing the flask before he could protest. She took the cap off and tilted it toward her cider. Just before the liquid started to come out, she froze and looked up at Sawyer. The expression on his face was a mixture of dread and horrified confusion. She smiled in triumph and lowered the flask again. "You make it too easy," she told him, trying not to laugh.

Realizing she'd been messing with him, he gave an annoyed scoff and yanked the bottle from her hand, capping it and replacing it in his pocket. He narrowed his eyes. "You're just a one-woman comedy show, aren't you?"

"Come on, let's go for a walk," she said, still smiling a little. "Meg's having the motor home completely serviced, so it won't be done for another hour. She went to the salon to kill time."

He allowed her to drag him away from the tree, knowing that if all went well, this was probably the last time she'd be seeing streets and sidewalks and buildings for God knew how long. Might as well indulge her, since he'd put her through hell last night. They started down a residential side street, where the houses were two and three-story clapboard, mostly dilapidated and on the verge of caving in. They looked to have been boarding houses once, but now seemed uninhabited. The whole atmosphere was depressing. Sawyer wished they'd picked another street.

In a musing voice, Kate said, "The lady in the store said this place sprang up overnight during the Gold Rush. I guess not everybody stuck around."

Sawyer stopped for a second and stared at a rambling Victorian with boarded-up windows. "Bet you that one was the whorehouse," he said, tilting his chin toward it.

Kate looked at it, then back up at him. "Why would you think that?"

"Because," he said. "It's got about twice as many doors as it needs, in places where it don't need doors."

Kate seemed confused, but shook her head, turning to walk on. "I don't even want to know what that means."

Sawyer followed, smiling. "Wish I'd lived back in the Gold Rush days. Get you a horse and a couple pistols, you could make your whole damn fortune by the time you're thirty... Then just settle back and get old on it."

"Most miners weren't that lucky," Kate said.

"I ain't talkin' about _mining_," he said with scorn. "Talkin' about doing it the easy way. Hell, people back then were even more gullible than they are now. They didn't know any more than a hole in the wall... coulda sold 'em an invisible cow, and they'd pay for it. If I had me that kinda raw material to work with, I'd be a million_aire_, Freckles," he said, emphasizing the last syllable. "I'd build us our own goddamn town and put myself in charge." He took another long swig from his cider.

Kate bit her lip, amused by the quick effect of the alcohol. "You might want to go easy on that moonshine there, sheriff."

"Too late," he said with satisfaction, smacking his lips over the last few drops. "That stuff ain't bad, doctored up." He crushed the styrofoam cup in his fist and tossed it into the gutter. Kate leaned over and picked it up without saying anything.

They continued on to the end of the street and turned into the next one. Kate paused at a trash barrel to toss the cup away, then glanced up. "Do you hear that?"

Sawyer listened. Besides faint traffic, all he could hear were the energetic shrieks of kids and what was probably a basketball bouncing on pavement. "Sounds like recess," he muttered.

Kate looked around, trying to locate the noise, and then walked past a delivery truck blocking the view. Sawyer followed, and they found themselves outside a high chain-link fence. Inside it, a square playground branched off the back of a red-brick school building. About fifty children were climbing over the equipment, playing basketball, or standing in huddled groups, talking.

"Let's sit down for a minute," Kate said, noticing a bench under an aspen tree.

Sawyer stared down at her, skeptically. "You know, you can get arrested for watchin' little kids like this."

She rolled her eyes. "We're not doing anything wrong. It's a public bench. Besides, I'm feeling dizzy."

He immediately lowered himself next to her, dropping the sarcasm. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's no big deal. I just need to rest for a few seconds."

He didn't seem completely convinced. "What do you think is causin' it? You've been gettin' lightheaded like this a lot here lately. Is it the elevation?"

She shrugged, unworried. "The book said it was normal. In the first few months, so much of the blood flow is redirected to the uterus..."

"Whoa, now," Sawyer interrupted her, holding up his hand, looking sick. "I'm gonna stop you right there, sweetheart. Let's just forget I asked, if it's all the same to you." He sincerely wished that she would stop springing words like _blood flow _and _uterus _on him with no warning. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Kate suppressed a smile as if this reaction didn't surprise her, turning her head away to watch the kids in the school yard. She looked with wistfulness at three girls pumping their legs frantically on the swing set, trying to outdo each other. Their laughing voices caught in the wind, soaring up louder and then fainter as the breeze shifted.

"When I was a kid, I used to make a beeline for the swings as soon as I got out the door," she said in a quiet voice. "I'd pick one and stay on it till the bell rang. It was like time just... _stopped_, when I was up there. I could forget everything that was wrong... everything that was going on at home. I used to have this crazy idea that if I could just get up high enough, I could somehow keep going... leave everything behind down here." She smiled ironically, looking at her hands. "Wishful thinking, huh?"

He watched her, not answering. The undercurrent of anger that ran through her memories of childhood was something he recognized all too familiarly. He knew perfectly well what to do with anger. But it was that unrelieved _sadness _on her face that he could never bear to see. He just didn't know how to respond to it. These were always the moments when he felt the most useless.

"What about you?" she asked now, turning toward him.

"What _about _me?" he repeated, having lost the train of meaning in the act of staring at her so closely.

"What did you do during recess when you were a kid? Wander around pickpocketing?"

He gave her an offended look. "You think that's all I ever did? Steal from people?"

Kate smiled a little, conceding. "Okay, _what_, then? I can't really picture you as a see-saw or merry-go-round kind of guy."

Sawyer sighed, realizing she wasn't going to let him out of this ridiculous conversation. He hadn't fully taken into account that getting her to open up and be more communicative would have to be a two-way street. It didn't seem entirely fair.

"I went to a different school damn near every year." He tried to think, running back through his memory to the earliest ones he could recall, during the time of his first series of foster homes. "The grade school back in Knoxville... it had these railroad ties laid around the border of the whole playground... Guess the bastards were too cheap to invest in a fence," he added with cynicism. "So I'd walk on the things, see how many times I could make it around the whole border before it was time to go back in. If I stepped off, then that time didn't count... Had to start all over. Got to where I could do it without ever fallin' off, if I was careful." He finished up grudgingly and then looked at Kate, wondering if this would be satisfactory.

"Sounds like fun," she said in a soft voice.

"It _wasn't_," he replied.

She waited a few seconds before she ventured her next question. "When you did that, you were... all by yourself?"

Irritated now, and feeling somehow cornered, Sawyer threw in a warning glare with his answer. "_Yeah_. Wasn't really a _group activity_."

Now she was watching him, probably with the same expression with which he'd just been watching her, and he hated it. He knew that if he was allowed to sympathize with her troubled childhood, then she should be able to return the favor. But it was different, somehow. It made him feel so weak when she looked at him that way, like he was still the lonely, isolated little boy she was picturing him as being. Maybe it would be better for both of them if they would just stop dredging up the past, once and for all. But he supposed if that were possible, they would have already done it. After spending so many years of their lives with people who couldn't be confided in, it was too easy now that they had each other to let things rise up out of the darkness into the light of day. From the very beginning, he'd known this would happen if he got involved with her. He'd known that she would be able to drag memories out of him that he'd worked hard at burying in unmarked graves. But there was no turning back from it now.

In order to distract her, he gestured toward the monkey bars, where a boy, probably about seven or so, was perched dangerously on the very top rung. None of the teachers seemed to be paying any attention. "Look at that little daredevil," he said.

Kate looked, and then paled slightly. "He shouldn't be up that high," she said, sounding worried.

"This comin' from the professional tree-climber?" Sawyer asked with a smirk.

"Yeah, well, I know what I'm doing at least. He doesn't look old enough for that."

They both continued to watch the boy as he wobbled, balancing on one bar near the center of the structure. It looked like he was trying to stand up.

"Fifty bucks says he falls," Sawyer muttered, staring intently as if this was a sporting event.

Kate glanced at him with indignation. "_Sawyer_! How can you place bets on the safety of a child?"

She looked back at the boy, who had now risen to a squatting position on the bar. He seemed to have remarkably good balance. Kate reconsidered. "Make it seventy-five," she said under her breath.

"You're on," Sawyer said, grinning.

They shook on it, distractedly.

After a few more seconds of tense waiting while the kid painstakingly rose higher and higher towards a standing position, a loud clanging ring signaled that recess was over. All the kids moved in a herd toward one set of double doors, pushing and shoving each other to squeeze through. The boy on the monkey bars swung down easily, dropping to his feet with a small thud and taking off running.

"I win," Kate said.

"The bell rang! Doesn't count," Sawyer argued.

"You never said anything about the bell," she said, laughing. "He didn't fall, did he? So cough it up!"

With an exaggerated show of reluctance, Sawyer dragged a wad of bills from his coat and counted out seventy-five bucks. _Damn_, he hated losing. And she knew that. Which was why she enjoyed it so much.

"Thank you," she said as she took the money, clearly pleased with herself. Then as she looked at what she was holding, a shadow of comic disbelief flickered across her face, as though she'd just realized what she'd done. She looked at Sawyer. "You don't think we'll be like this when it's our _own_, do you?"

Just the thought of his own son or daughter standing on top of a ten-foot high jungle of metal bars made Sawyer's palms sweaty, and the kid didn't even technically exist yet. "Doubt there's much chance of that," he admitted. Jokingly, he added, "Besides, don't you think our kid'll be worth more than seventy-five bucks?"

Kate didn't seem to hear him. Her gaze followed the last of the children as they straggled into the school, their exhilarated voices not quieting down until the absolute last minute, hushed by the stern looks of teachers. Her expression was one of longing mixed with regret. She continued to stare at the door even when it closed behind the little girl who brought up the rear. "It's gonna be lonely up there," she said in a faraway tone, as if the thought was occurring to her for the first time. "_Really _lonely. For all of us."

She looked over at Sawyer. Hardly above a whisper, she spoke. "What if we're making a mistake?"

He rose to his feet, slowly, straightening out his legs. Taking a few steps forward, he peered through the chain-link fence and then turned back around to face her, leaning on it. "Little late for that, ain't it? We're practically there."

She nodded, a tiny, mournful smile touching her lips. "Yeah. I guess so."

"You done resting? Because I'm about to freeze my ass off stayin' in one place like this. Whiskey don't last long out here."

"I feel better," she said with a sigh, pulling herself to her feet. "Meg's probably done with her manicure by now, anyway. We should go find her."

Sawyer shook his head in weary amusement at the idea of Meg getting a manicure, but he didn't say anything about it. He'd save it till he could make fun of her in person. Kate cast one more glance toward the playground, and Sawyer started to turn away, assuming they were good to go.

"Hey," she said. He felt her hand on his arm, so he stopped, waiting.

"Do you think..." she began, and then stopped, in a manner that was almost shy. She touched her stomach without seeming to notice it. "Do you think once we get settled up there, we could have a swing set?" Apparently embarrassed by these words, she rolled her eyes, as if to counteract their sincerity. "I mean, not right _away_, obviously... But someday?"

He swallowed hard, not sure why such a trivial request would make him want to lift her up against this fence and kiss her till she couldn't breathe. "Now how'm I supposed to say no to that?" he drawled.

"You're not," she said, wrinkling her nose at him.

Out of all her facial expressions, it was one of his favorites, but as he smiled down at her, he was overcome by a vague sense of uneasiness that seemed to come out of nowhere, unattached to anything at all. He looked up, scanning the area, as if with the sensation of being watched. But that was crazy. The whole damn place was deserted, and there wasn't anybody up here who would recognize them anyway. The feeling still lingered, though, despite there being no reason for it.

He glanced back down at her, and there was a hint of concern in her eyes as she stared at him, transmitted there from his own worried features, he knew. Whichever emotion one of them was experiencing seemed to infect the other like a virus. She waited for him to explain what was bothering him, but it was too indefinable to put into words. Instead, he slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close to him. The simple action made him feel a little better, though he couldn't completely shake his sense of disquiet.

"Guess we better go hunt down the beauty queen, huh?" he said in an overly casual voice as they started back up the street.

* * *

Within an hour after getting back on the road, Kate had given up the fight to stay awake. Sawyer lay beside her, trying to rest, but he couldn't seem to drift off. His earlier uneasy sensation had died down, but hadn't gone away entirely, and it was just enough of a nagging presence to keep him alert. In the back of his mind, he wondered whether it was simply a reaction to the fact that they were getting so close to their goal, and that the reality of his future life was beginning to sink in. It wasn't a reassuring thought.

He finally decided to get up and sit with Meg. At least that would focus his mind on something more specific and tangible. He left Kate with a light kiss on the shoulder and headed toward the front, glancing out the side windows as he moved. The wide sweep of the scenic wilderness they were traveling through would have been breathtaking for anyone in the mood to enjoy it. The highway they were now on was deserted except for the RV, and it would have been easy to spot wild animals near the ice-blue lakes and rivers surrounded by white-capped mountains, if only they'd taken the time to look. But even Meg seemed to feel that the vacation was over, and that the sooner they reached safety, the better. She glanced up as Sawyer dropped himself heavily into the passenger seat, but she didn't seem surprised.

"She asleep?"

"Yeah," Sawyer said.

"Good. I imagine waiting up all night for _your _selfish ass to get home is quite a drain on the energy."

He sighed in irritation. How could he have thought this would be a good idea? Instead of responding, he took up his own line of attack. Glancing at Meg's hands on the steering wheel, he said, "So, what's with the fingernails, Tammy Fay? You planning on shackin' up with this guy when we get to the North Pole? What is he... some old _high school flame_? You still keep his promise ring in your sock drawer?"

Meg glanced at him, annoyed, and he gave her his slightly malicious grin.

"You think I never had a manicure before, smart-ass?"

"I ain't ever seen you with one."

"Well, you don't see me that often, do you?" she insisted. "If you did, you'd know that I've always believed it's a good idea to have built-in weapons on your body." She held up her hand, palm inward. "See those? I could cut somebody's throat with my pinky."

He rolled his eyes, but tried to force himself to be more serious. "So what's he like? This _guy _you claim to know?"

"Clifford?" Meg considered. "Clifford marches to the beat of his own drummer, that's for damn sure. He's an old hippie... Anti-government, anti-establishment, anti-capitalism... Anti-everything, just about. And you'd think with him being against the world like that, he'd be bitter. But, oh no. Not Cliff. I've never seen the bastard mad at anything in my life. He's like some trippy school guidance counselor who wants you to think that life is _juuuust _swell.. Even wears one of those shirts with the yellow smiley faces on it. God, I hate those," she added, but with a certain fondness that somewhat belied the statement. "Though I'm guessin' some of that peace and harmony might come from a blacklight in the basement, if you catch my drift."

"_Great_," Sawyer said without enthusiasm. "Just what I need, another pothead neighbor."

"Well." Meg sighed. "It could be worse. At least he won't try to get Kate to star in an S&M porn flick."

Sawyer stared at her like she was crazy. "_What_?"

"You're not the only one who's had bad experiences with neighbors," Meg said. "And don't ask me to go into details, because I won't," she added warningly.

"Thank God for that," Sawyer muttered, still disturbed.

Suddenly, the RV jolted into a large pothole that stretched across the center of the deserted highway, where it appeared part of the road had been washed away in a flood. "_Damn_," Meg said.

"Could you be a little more careful? Sawyer asked with gritted teeth. "I don't recall signin' up for the monster truck rally!" He instinctively glanced toward the back, even though the partition prevented him from seeing anything.

"Oh, sure thing... Next one I'll turn the hover function on, and we'll just glide over it. That work for you?" she asked. When Sawyer didn't answer, Meg chuckled quietly. "She's _fine_. That baby isn't just gonna fall out, you know. When the time comes, you'll wish it would, believe me."

"I wasn't even _thinking _about that," he said with hostility. Then, a few seconds later, he unconsciously contradicted himself by saying, "I _know _she's fine. I mean, it ain't like she's getting _dizzy _all the time, or anything." He made his voice casual, then glanced surreptitiously at Meg.

"Well, good. Glad to hear it."

"Why's that good? So, _what..._ are you sayin' that it'd be bad if she _was _getting dizzy?" he asked, sounding worried. "Because she is, if you want to know the damn truth! I just made that up, when I said she wasn't."

Meg laughed, unable to help herself. "Good God, you sound just like your father."

Sawyer stared at her, his attention immediately diverted. With mild dread, he asked, "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I've never seen anybody so paranoid about a pregnancy as your dad was when Laura was carrying you. Up until then, he'd always treated her like one of the guys... She was such a tomboy. But as soon as he found out you were on the way, it was like she was made of glass. Only time I ever really liked him, during those nine months," she said, her voice lost in memory. "He waited on her hand and foot, too. And if you'd known how lazy he was before that, you'd know how strange it was to see it. I remember this one time when she was having chocolate cravings late at night. Any normal person would have just told her she'd have to wait till morning. But what does he do? He breaks into a convenience store and steals_ three hundred _candy bars for her." Meg shook her head. "Still can't believe they never caught him for that. And those things lasted for years, too. By the time they were gone, your mom was so sick of chocolate, she said she never wanted to taste it again for the rest of her life."

This anecdote, for some reason, struck a chord in Sawyer's memory. He thought hard, trying to grasp what was eluding him. "These candy bars... Did they keep 'em in a box? Under the kitchen sink?"

Meg glanced sideways at him, surprised. "Yeah. They did. You _remember _that?"

"Sort of," he muttered. His memories of life with his parents were so spotty and full of holes that they mostly consisted of isolated images detached from any real meaning, like this one of a mysterious box under the sink filled with candy bars, going stale by the time he was old enough to swipe a few when his mom wasn't looking. Now at least the image had a story to go with it. He mentally repeated the details to himself so that he wouldn't forget them.

"How 'bout that," Meg mused. "Well, anyway. The point is, you're crazy. Bat-shit crazy, just like he was. There's nothing wrong with your girl, so stop worrying about it. You and her have got enough _real _problems without adding imaginary ones. Once you get up there and get settled, maybe it'll be easier to stay calm." With one hand, she pulled a map from the dash and ran her eyes over it. "There aren't any roads to the place, so the closest we can get is a ranger's station, about fifty miles ahead. Once we're there, we can radio Clifford and he'll pick the two of you up in a helicopter. You ever been in a helicopter?" she asked.

"Yeah," Sawyer said, distracted by something else she'd said. "What do you mean, he'll pick the _two of us _up? Aren't you comin' too?"

"Now why would I do that? Haven't you had about enough of my company?"

"You even gotta _ask?_" he said. "Had enough before the first hour was up, if you want to know the truth. But..." he paused, sounding almost hesitant. "Pretty sure Kate thinks you're gonna be stickin' around for awhile."

"What would have given her that idea?"

"Hell if I know. But for some lunatic reason that I can't even begin to fathom, I get the feeling she actually _likes _you. It was her damn idea to ask you if..." Here he stopped, realizing he'd said too much.

"To ask me what?"

Sawyer stared straight ahead, wanting to kick himself. "Forget it."

"Don't make me use these fingernails, boy. You know I hate mysteries. Now spit it out!"

He sighed. "_Fine_. But you better not mention it to her, because she wanted to ask you herself. And I'm not in the mood to get into hot water over somethin' this ridiculous." As Meg waited, Sawyer tried to force out the words that he hadn't planned on being the one to say. This was supposed to be _Kate's _job, damn it. "She wanted to know if... If you'd be the kid's _godmother_." He nearly choked on the word, his misery at saying it readily evident to anyone with ears.

There was no immediate response to his statement, which surprised him. He waited and waited. Finally, he couldn't stand the suspense any longer, and he cast a glance at his aunt.

She was watching the road, concentrating on her driving, but with an expression on her face that he'd never seen there before, an expression that startled him just a little. She looked like a completely different woman than the one he knew. Like a woman who got scared or upset or overwhelmed or occasionally vulnerable. Like a woman who had _emotions_. But... There had to be some mistake, didn't there? Those tendencies didn't apply to _Meg. _They never had, for as far back as he could remember. Even when his uncle had died, she'd reported the fact to him like she was talking about a pie she'd burned.When he'd tried to gain her sympathy once by telling her that if he didn't pay some guy ten thousand bucks, he'd be dead in a week, she'd said placidly, "Well... I'd go with cremation, then. It's cheaper." It was the last time he'd ever appealed to her for money.

Because of these and a thousand other instances, he'd always believed she was somehow impervious to normal human emotions. He'd envied it, in fact, and had done his best to perfect the same technique in himself over the years, without much luck. But Meg was an expert. So that, now, to realize that maybe he'd been wrong about her this entire time was a profoundly disorienting experience. With her barriers down, her face appeared almost _young_, and Sawyer had a flash of what she must have looked like back when his uncle had fought with her in the middle of the road and then proposed to her on the spur of the moment, years before he was even born. Christ almighty, she must have been _pretty _once. He could have gone a lifetime without ever needing or wanting to know this particular fact.

"Godmother," she repeated now, blankly.

"It's the person who takes care of the kid if we fall down a mineshaft or something," he explained.

"I know what it _is_," she snapped, making him feel a small measure of relief. At least she still _sounded _like herself.

Apparently trying to collect her thoughts, Meg waited a few seconds and then said in a quiet voice, "I don't know anything about children."

Sawyer made a sarcastic noise. "Like we _do_?"

She seemed amused at this, but her expression was still touched. "Good point." She paused for a second, and then sighed, with a hint of weariness. "So, I imagine this is the kind of question you're not really supposed to say no to, isn't it?"

Shrugging a little, Sawyer admitted, "How should I know? Ain't exactly like I've ever asked it before."

Taking a deep breath, Meg seemed to pull herself together. She was starting to look normal again, tough and composed, like usual. "I guess maybe I could handle the little brat if I had to. If you're sure that's what you really want."

He almost reiterated that it was _Kate's _idea, not his, and that Meg would have to take it up with her, but something stopped him. Under the circumstances, it just didn't feel like the right thing to say. Instead, he settled for a grudging, "Don't pull a muscle gettin' all excited about it, now."

She smiled softly, but didn't say anything. Sawyer decided that this exchange had been more than he'd bargained for. He felt worn out. Since it would start to get dark soon anyway, he decided to get back into bed with Kate. Maybe he would start undressing her to see how far he could get before she woke up and noticed. That was always fun.

Standing up, he prepared to head toward the back again, but Meg's voice stopped him. "James."

He glanced down at her. She seemed serious, as if she were going to say something she didn't know how to express.

"I can't remember if I ever told you this before," she began, which clearly wasn't true. "But I just figure maybe you should hear it." She swallowed hard, trying her best to stay stoic and no-nonsense. "You know I wanted to keep you, right? After they died, I mean. Your uncle and I... We _tried _to keep you with us. But they wouldn't let us." She glanced up at him, then back at the road, her stare furious and haunted at the same time. "Did you know that?"

He hadn't, in fact. And he'd always wondered. It was a major reason for the veiled resentment that he'd felt toward Meg for most of his life. But he couldn't admit to that now. "_Yeah_, I knew that," he lied.

Meg nodded, not as if she truly believed him, but as if she was relieved that at least he knew _now_. "Well, I just thought I'd make sure."

Sawyer stood where he was a moment longer, trying to digest the information without making it obvious that he was hearing it for the first time. The meaning flickered over his face, especially affecting his eyes, making his features seem open and somehow vulnerable. In a voice that was unusually gentle for him, he teased her. "What makes you think I'd have wanted to live with you anyway?"

She laughed, pleased with the smart-ass perfection of this remark. "Get some sleep," she said, dismissing him.

As he turned, he brought his hand down on her shoulder for just a brief second, awkwardly, before moving toward the back. Meg drew a deep breath into her lungs and then released it, her expression strangely peaceful.

* * *

He hadn't even drifted beyond a light doze yet, having decided after he lay down that Kate was sleeping too soundly to be bothered, when an unfamiliar noise dragged him back to consciousness. He listened for a second, and there it was again. A short, tapping honk. Somebody's_ car horn_. He raised his head up, trying to figure out if it was the RV or not. He didn't think it was. And why the hell would Meg be honking, anyway? It felt like they were still traveling at a solid pace, so she wasn't waiting for bears or moose to cross the road. He glanced down at Kate, who was lying on her side up against the wall. The sound apparently wasn't loud enough to penetrate her sleep.

Sawyer got out of bed and yanked his jeans and shoes on again, then went back up front to investigate.

"What the hell's that noise?" he asked Meg.

She glanced in the sideview mirror. "I don't know where this son of a bitch came from, but he just appeared out of nowhere. I think he wants me to pull over."

Confused, Sawyer leaned over and checked the mirror on the passenger side. There was a car following close behind, something sleek and black and built to be inconspicuous. But the front windows weren't tinted, and he could see a man inside. A large man with blonde hair.

Sawyer leaned back away from the mirror, slowly. And now, the anxiety he'd been vaguely sensing all day centered itself and found its object. Only he had no time to focus on it, or even consider what this meant for them.

With the continued honking, Meg had started to nudge the RV over onto the shoulder, as though she were preparing to stop. "You think he needs help?" she asked.

"Get back on the road!" Sawyer said, harshly.

Meg gave him a surprised look, but turned the wheel away from the shoulder and resumed her former pace. "Who is it?"

"Don't slow down," he said, turning toward the back again. "All right? Just, whatever you do, keep this damn thing on the road."

Although concerned, she seemed to agree by her silence.

Sawyer moved quickly back to the shelf-bed in the narrow hallway again. He knew what he had to do. He knew he had to wake her up. But as he stared down at her sleeping form, it was as if time slowed to a crawl and then stopped. The very rise and fall of her chest seemed to be in slow motion. Her dark brown hair was messy and the shorter strands near the top tapered across her cheeks. She was wearing a light green sweater. The blanket was twisted around her and her socks poked out from the end of it. He thought if he stared at her intensely enough, he could burn this image onto his retinas, give it some kind of lasting permanence. Maybe later, it would be only a random flash of memory, like the box of candy bars under the sink. Or maybe, if he just stood here and refused to move, refused to wake her up, they could both cheat time and slip under the radar, and this single moment would stretch and swell until it contained everything, and they could stay in it forever, never changing and never needing to escape from it.

Sawyer was startled out of his reverie by another series of taps on the horn. The noise was impatient and also somehow malevolent, like the person honking was enjoying this game.

He leaned over her, resting one hand lightly on her back. "Wake up, Freckles." He shook her a little until she stretched and rolled toward him, smiling.

"Sawyer..." she muttered. "Can't you go to sleep without it, just _once_?" Her eyes remained closed in a relaxed, lazy manner as she waited for his kisses to begin.

"Kate."

At the unusual serious tone in his voice, she opened her eyes fully and stared at him. Seeing the look on his face, she sat up, the expectation of pleasure dying out of her eyes. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't seem to find the words to tell her what would have to be said. He remembered feeling the same thing after the FBI had first visited the house back in Tennessee, and he'd had to let her know that their time there was over. Why was he always the one who had to break this kind of news? It didn't seem fair.

"Sawyer, what is it?" she repeated, growing more alarmed. Then she heard the honking as well. She glanced toward the back, then at him again, confused. "Is somebody following us?"

"It's that guy," he finally said. "The one from the lake. Almost positive it's him."

Kate looked away, and he could see the thoughts racing through her mind, reflected on her features. She pushed past him out of the bed and located her shoes, pulling them on fast. "That's impossible," she muttered.

"Look and see for yourself," he said. "Your eyes are better than mine, anyway."

She gave him a quick glance of dread, but then turned and went into the master bedroom that Meg slept in, the room at the very back of the motor home. There was a small window near the corner, shuttered with mini-blinds. Approaching it hesitantly, Kate parted two of the slats just enough to peek through. Sawyer watched a wedge of evening sun fall on the top part of her face like a mask, then disappear as she dropped her fingers and snapped the opening shut again.

"It's him," she confirmed, her voice flat.

Now they stared at each other. Sawyer could see that Kate had already transitioned into her tough, shrewd, common-sense persona - the part of her that did what had to be done while pushing emotions into a special compartment to be dealt with later. She didn't look scared at all. The only weakness he could detect was a sad hopelessness far back in her eyes, but she did a good job of suppressing it. "I don't understand," she said quietly. "He couldn't have been following us this whole time."

"He _hasn't _been followin' us the whole time. Bastard must've known where we were headed to begin with. He's probably been up here a week waitin' for us to show."

Kate looked at the floor, nodding slightly as if this interpretation was probably the right one. It didn't seem to make her feel any better. She looked back up at Sawyer, and they shared another few seconds of wordless communication. Both seemed to be trying to apologize for the loss of everything they'd planned to have together - everything that had the potential to slip out of their grasp, right now. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Sawyer remembered Kate asking him about the swing set earlier in the day, a memory that jarred painfully with this moment. It was such a simple thing, but it was all she wanted. It was all they both wanted. A place to live. A place to be with each other everyday, a place to have their baby, and maybe even, someday, another one. No, they weren't perfect, and yes, they'd done some pretty godawful things in the past. But those people who had died at their hands would never be brought back. Time didn't allow for reparations, even if the heart was willing. And whether they were in a prison cell or not, they suffered for their crimes unceasingly, during every waking hour as well as in their dreams at night. Was it too much to ask that they be left alone to suffer in their own way, _together_? Why were they forced to fight so hard for a desire so simple?

"Get the gun," he told her, barely above a whisper. She closed her eyes briefly and then took a deep, fortifying breath before disappearing into the hallway where her backpack was.

"James, what's the plan, here?" Meg hollered from the front. "Still the same?"

"Yeah!" he shouted. "Just keep her straight ahead, as fast as you can go without losin' control!"

Kate returned to the room with her backpack, dropping it on the bed. She opened the top and rummaged through quickly, pulling out a jacket in order to see better. An object that had been caught in the fabric fluttered to the floor. Sawyer reached to pick it up, turning it over. It was the sonogram. Pulling the gun out of the bottom of the bag, Kate saw the picture and froze. Their eyes met, and he held it out to her. With a shaking hand, she took it, looking at it as if she'd forgotten it existed. Her expression changed subtly, the hard-edged intent dying out of it, replaced by something softer and more uncertain. She clutched the gun against her chest.

When Sawyer reached for the weapon, she backed away, eluding him.

"Give me the gun," he said, impatient.

She finally looked up from the picture, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. "We can't do this," she whispered.

Trying not to overreact, he worked hard to keep his voice calm and even. "What the hell do you mean, we can't do this? _Hand me the gun, Kate."_

"No," she said, more firmly now. "I won't let you go through this again. We can't just keep doing this forever. It _has to stop_."

"Are you outta your goddamn mind?" he hissed, looking at her like she was speaking a foreign language. "After everything we been through to get this far, you're just gonna throw it all away because your _mommy instinct _is kickin' in? If you're itchin' for something to _save_, then hell, I'll buy you one of them cows from the slaughterhouse, and you can feel all smug and morally superior about it. But _this guy_? You must have some kind of brain damage if you think I'm gonna let you screw this up. Not when we're _this _close."

"I don't want anybody else to die, Sawyer!" she said, raising her voice. "I don't care who he is. There has to be some other way. What about the money? If he's a bounty hunter like I thought, then he's doing this for the paycheck. We can offer him more! We can buy him off, maybe." Her voice was desperate.

"Okay then, say he takes our _money_," Sawyer said with scorn. "Then what's to stop him from comin' back later when he needs a little refill? Or just takin' the cash and then turning us in, anyway? You can't honestly believe that's an option. I _know _you ain't that stupid, sweetheart."

"If we have to pay him off for the rest of our lives, then we'll do it. It's still better than somebody having to die because of this." Kate paused, giving him a searching look. "_Please_."

He glanced at the floor, as if he were relenting, reconsidering under the force of her arguments. The road seemed to be getting rougher, and Kate braced one arm against the wall to keep her balance as she waited for him to come around. Sawyer looked up at her again, sighing. "You know that if we do this, there's a chance it won't work. And that means _this is it_. End of the line for us, kiddo."

Trying to hold back tears, she nodded. "I know that."

"And knowin' that, you're sure you want to go through with it? Because there ain't gonna be a second chance." He waited tensely for her answer, praying she would change her mind at the last minute.

She was silent for a few seconds before replying. "I'm sure," she whispered.

A flood of bitter anger threatened to rise up in him, but Sawyer held it back. Stepping close, he halted just inches away from her. "All right, then," he muttered. He held her face between his hands, staring at her for a second while she looked back apologetically, but without yielding in her decision. Then he leaned in towards her. She tilted her head back, their lips meeting softly at first and then with more intensity. Each individual kiss built to its own peak and then ebbed, the next already approaching behind it, like ocean waves. When they finally broke apart, with eyes closed, Kate locked her arms around Sawyer's neck, her face crumpling as she pressed it against his shoulder. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in deeply while his arms encircled her slender frame. With his mouth against her ear, he whispered the words, "_Love you, Freckles_."

He felt a slight tremor pass through her, but before she had a chance to respond, he was already moving into action, shoving her backwards through the bedroom doorframe, yanking the gun out of her tight grip. The look of astonishment on her face was only a brief flash; she realized almost immediately what he was doing. Forcing her across the threshold, he pulled the door shut even while she tried to make a grab for the knob, then he pushed the button to lock it from the inside.

"Sawyer!" Her voice was muffled through the door. The flimsy wood shook as she pounded on it with her fists. "You son of a bitch," she said, sobbing now. "Don't do this! Do you hear me? _I don't want you to do this_! Open the door, now!" She pounded harder, frantic now. "_Sawyer_!"

Blocking her out, as he had no choice but to do, he moved to the window, flipping the safety off and cocking the gun. Yanking the blinds down in one swipe, he flipped the latch and pushed the window out, sticking his arm through in the same motion. His first shot broke the windshield of the car that still trailed so relentlessly close, but it was too far to the center to cause injury. Paul swerved a bit toward the shoulder, but then corrected himself, withdrawing his own gun at the same time. With the glare of the setting sun, it was hard to make out his facial features, but Sawyer thought the man seemed less than surprised that his honking efforts hadn't been successful.

Sawyer aimed again, but this time the bullet only glanced off the hood. He felt that familiar vibrating twang down the length of his arm from the power of the weapon, along with the adrenaline rush that came with it. But the road was a mess, the potholes almost continuous now, and the jerking and jolting of the RV made it impossible for him to manage a steady aim. "_Damn it_," he said under his breath. He ducked to the side as a shot from Paul ricocheted off the back of the motor home, just missing the window.

He stuck his arm out again, trying his best to aim straight at the man behind the steering wheel, but when he pulled the trigger, there was a hollow, empty _click_. He tried again. Nothing. Jerking his arm back inside, he checked the chamber. He'd been sure there were at least six bullets left. He didn't think he'd need more than that. But it was empty. _Shit_. _Now what_?

Before he could come to any decision at all, another shot echoed from Paul's car, immediately followed by a loud blast and a sharp, squealing turn to the right as the RV left the road and flew at sixty miles per hour uphill over open, rutted ground. Sawyer was thrown against the wall, and then a few seconds later the wall itself ejected him as it became the floor, and then the wall again, and then the ceiling. It was only later that he was able to piece together what must have happened - that Paul had deliberately shot out one of the back tires, causing the RV to leave the highway and travel uphill the length of a football field, then jackknife and roll down into a gully, ending up on its side, wheels spinning futilely in the air. At the moment it happened, however, he perceived it as nothing but a violent, jumbled chaos.

When the motion stopped, Sawyer opened his eyes to see the bed attached to what was now the wall, above him on his left. He hadn't even realized the furniture was bolted down until this moment. Was it just to keep it from moving around while driving, or was it so people wouldn't steal it? But what the hell was he thinking about? _Who cared about the damn furniture_? He suddenly understood what had happened, and that the insistent shouting from the other side of the door had stopped. There was nothing but silence.

Pulling himself up, he glanced around for the gun, locating it near him in a corner. He grabbed the backpack, which had fallen against the wall. He wasn't sure if there was any ammo left, but if there was, it would be in here. Carefully, he unlocked the door and pulled it open, letting it fall downwards toward what was now the floor. He crawled through it. "Kate!" he bellowed, his chest tight with dread. "You all right?" _Please God let her answer_. _Please, God_. "KATE!"

As he picked his way through the cluttered, destroyed interior, he saw something move beneath the bench/table combo, which was now on its side just above the floor. Kate was crouched in the small space, seemingly disoriented. He kicked aside a sofa cushion and moved toward her, already reaching for her outstretched arm to pull her out. "You okay?" he asked as she stood up, an edge of panic in his tone.

"Yeah," she said, her voice shaky. "I'm fine."

He looked her over, certain she must be mistaken.

"I fell under there right as we went off the road, so I didn't get thrown around much. At least I don't think I did," she said, staring around her distractedly. "Meg?" she called out.

Sawyer looked around, remembering his aunt for the first time. In his fear for Kate, he hadn't given her a second thought.

Together, they both began to make their careful way toward the front. Kate pulled Sawyer's coat from the stove range where it had fallen, tossing it at him. "Put your coat on," she said.

"Why, you afraid I'm gonna catch cold?" he asked, bewildered that she would think of something so trivial at such a cataclysmic moment.

"It has the _money _in it, Sawyer," she answered, pissed. He glared at her, but pulled it on. Though if she still thought they were bargaining, she was dead wrong.

"Meg!" Kate shouted again, her voice echoing in the eerie silence they'd suddenly been plunged into. They reached the front. The driver's and passenger's seats were empty, and the windshield was shattered, most of it gone. "Where is she?" Kate asked, desperate. She started to climb out through the gaping opening, ignoring the spikes of jagged glass. "Hey, easy... _easy_!" Sawyer warned, helping her over it as much as he could and cutting his hand in the process.

Kate slid down the hood while Sawyer climbed through the windshield, following. The sharp, icy air was like needles in the lungs after the overheated interior. "Meg?" Kate said, scanning the area. Various pieces of furniture and luggage had been thrown from the RV, surrounding it like the debris field of a miniature tornado. Kate picked her way through this, searching. Then he saw her stop, her hands coming to her mouth in a gesture of horror. "_Oh my God_."

He quickly came to her side, following her gaze. The sight that met his eyes made him freeze for a second, as he tried to assemble the assorted images into one coherent whole. Against all logic, it was a scene from _The Wizard of Oz _that first popped into his head, the part where the wicked witch had had a house dropped on her. But this was the reverse, because Meg's legs weren't sticking out. Her legs, all the way up to her hips, were _underneath _the vehicle. Her torso rested on the ground, emerging from the RV like an unrolled sleeping bag.

Dropping to her knees beside her, Kate touched her face. "Meg? Can you hear me?"

The older woman's eyes fluttered open, and she raised her head slightly, taking in the situation. Letting her head fall back to the ground, she said in an ironically satisfied tone, "Look at that. It isn't every woman that can run over _herself_, you know." Raising a hand contemplatively before her face, she muttered angrily to herself. "_Broke three nails, too_."

The sound Kate made in response was halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Can you feel your legs?" she asked.

Meg thought about the question. "No," she said. "But I can't see that it matters too much at this point."

"We're gonna get you out of here," Kate said, in what Sawyer believed to be the most optimistically delusional statement he'd ever heard her utter. Even to his untrained eye, it looked like Meg's pelvis was crushed. There were probably significant internal injuries. Even if there was a hospital across the highway, she might not make it. And there _wasn't _a hospital across the highway.

The sound of a furiously revving engine reached their ears. They were on the other side of a ridge that obscured the hill they'd traveled up from the road, but it sounded like Paul was doing his best to follow in their tracks. In such a tiny car, he must have gotten stuck. But they couldn't count on him _staying _stuck.

"Who the hell is he?" Meg asked, hearing the noise.

"It's the guy who was after us back in Ontario, where you picked us up," Sawyer explained.

"Well..." Meg said, grimacing at a sudden pain. "You've got to admire his _persistence_."

Kate jumped to her feet, as though with a sudden resolution. She touched the side of the motor home. "Sawyer! We've got to get this off of her somehow." He didn't move. She cast an accusing look back at him. "Are you gonna help me, or not!"

He stared at her like she was crazy. "Help you do _what_? Thing weighs close to _three tons_, sweetheart! And I'm sorry to break it to you, but I didn't remember to pack my superhero cape!"

"We have to do _something_!" she said, on the edge of despair.

"What you have to do is get yourselves the hell away from this thing before that bastard makes it up here, which it sounds like he's fixin' to do," Meg said, sounding calm even though her face was drained of color. "You'd best go into those woods over there. I'll see if I can't distract him when he gets up here... Tell him you're both still inside." Sawyer looked toward the woods she referred to, which he hadn't even noticed until now. They'd come to a stop just on the edge of a thick, dark forest. It didn't look inviting, but it _did _look like a good place to hide from a pursuer.

"You think we're just gonna leave you _alone _here?" Kate asked, kneeling down beside Meg again as she tucked her own hair behind her ears.

"That's exactly what you're gonna do," Meg said. "You've got more important things to worry about than an old woman under a motor home." She gave a dry cackle at her own joke, but then immediately stopped, as if the laughter hurt her.

"I'm not leaving," Kate said obstinately, fighting tears. "I don't care what you say."

Meg sighed heavily, closing her eyes. "Don't get all sentimental on me, hon. You know I don't appreciate it." With an effort, she dragged a slip of paper out of her back pocket and shoved it toward Kate. "Those are the coordinates of the ranger's station and Clifford's place... Don't lose that."

In the manner of a child who believed she could deny the reality of the situation by simply refusing to cooperate with it, Kate didn't take the paper. Sawyer reached down and grabbed it. The car engine on the other side of the hill revved louder. "We need to move," he said to Kate in a low voice. "There's no bullets left."

Meg looked up at Kate. "You hear that, girl? Time to shake a leg." Her voice was fainter now, but she still sounded authoritative. "I'll figure somethin' out. Still got my trusty cell phone, don't I?"

"You won't get service up here," Kate argued, wiping a shaky hand across her eyes in an effort not to appear distraught.

Smiling weakly, Meg took this hand and squeezed it. "I hope that kid turns out to be as stubborn as you are." Then she looked at Sawyer, locking eyes with him. "Get her out of here, James. I don't want to have to slap her."

Before he could touch her, Kate leaned over, pressing her head against Meg's shoulder. "_I'm so sorry_," she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken with sobs.

Raising an arm to Kate's back, Meg said with closed eyes, "All right, you said it. Now I don't want you to ever say it, or think it, again. Not for the rest of your life. You understand me?"

Kate couldn't answer. Sawyer reached down and grabbed her from behind, pulling her up and away from Meg. She shoved his hands off her, backing away from him. The look on her tear-stained face bordered on hatred. As she glared at him, the engine over the hill stopped and a car door slammed. Paul was continuing on foot. There was no more time to lose. Glancing toward the hill with a hunted expression, Kate turned and, without letting herself look at Meg again, started toward the woods.

Meg didn't seem to have enough strength to keep her eyes open, now. Sawyer stared at her with misery, suddenly wondering what the hell he was doing. Maybe Kate was right. How could they just _leave _her here? As if she sensed his uncertainty, Meg opened her eyes and leveled a direct, no-nonsense stare at him. "_March_," she commanded, angling her arm toward the direction Kate had started in. It was the same tone she'd used when she'd chased him toward the bathtub as a kid after he'd been playing in the dirt all day.

Tearing his guilt-filled gaze from her, he moved away, stopping to grab Kate's coat from the ground where it had miraculously flown out of the RV still attached to the rack it had been hanging on.

He caught up with her just as she reached the border of the trees. Within seconds, the dark forest had swallowed them both without a trace.


	26. Chapter 26

Sorry this has been so long in arriving...As I'm sure you all know, this site has been preventing log-ins for a few days. The chapters will be, on average, about 2 weeks apart from here on out. I'm sorry about that, because I know I used to be able to update more frequently, but it's just not possible anymore... Oh, and someone (I think) asked about why this will be shorter than IH, since I said it'll only be about 30-32 chapters, while In Hiding was 40, but technically, this fic is already much longer than IH, based on length. It's just that the chapters in IH were much shorter, so it seemed to last longer Lol.

I said this at L-F too, as a little disclaimer, so I think I'll say it here as well - the sex in this might be a bit dark for some tastes, because Kate is in a dark place, emotionally, and it was the only kind that seemed to fit the mood... I apologize if it bothers anybody.

Thank you so much for sticking with me so long - To both new readers, and old ones. It's almost a year now since I started "In Hiding", and I can't believe I'm still writing this story!

* * *

**Chapter 26**

They walked as fast as they could to make use of what little daylight was left. The sun had just set, so that the last traces of dusk still lingered overhead, but in the heart of the thick, heavily canopied forest, things were dim. A thin layer of leftover snow on the ground provided a bit of extra brightness, but it wasn't much help. They had no flashlight with them after leaving the wreckage of the RV in such a hurry, and if they had, Kate wouldn't have stopped to dig it out, anyway. She'd barely paused long enough for Sawyer to extract the last of the ammo from her backpack in order to reload the gun. The thought uppermost in her mind was that they needed to find some type of shelter where they could hide out temporarily in case Paul was still on their trail, but so far, she hadn't spotted anything that looked feasible. She kept moving ahead, relentlessly, focusing only on her surroundings and their immediate needs, not letting herself think about what they'd left behind them, about what had happened to Meg. She knew if she allowed herself to dwell on it, she would break down. So she stumbled over roots and logs, not slowing her pace in the slightest, pushing limbs out of the way in her forward drive. She assumed Sawyer would keep up. To be honest, at the moment she couldn't have cared less whether he did or not.

Passing under a particularly dense clump of firs, her foot caught the edge of another root and she went down on one knee, hard. From behind her, she could feel Sawyer approaching, probably concerned. Grabbing her shoe, she yanked it free and stood up, ducking away before he could reach her and resuming her stride. She heard him sigh in irritation, but he didn't say anything. He'd been unusually quiet ever since they'd started walking, which she was thankful for.

After another ten minutes or so of increasingly difficult hiking, the woods thinned out to reveal a deep gorge about sixty feet wide cutting straight across their path. Kate came to a halt near the edge of it. At the bottom, it was just possible to make out a stream, but the rock walls were too steep to permit access to it. It would be impossible to cross here. Undaunted, she began to make her way along the edge, altering their course at a perpendicular angle.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sawyer asked.

"We need to find a way to get to the other side," she said without looking around, sounding out of breath.

He let a few seconds of silence elapse. "_Why_?"

Kate didn't bother to answer this. Maybe because there wasn't any particular answer to give.

"Think it's about time to take a break," Sawyer added when she didn't respond.

"Fine, then. Take a break." She kept walking. It was funny how she could practically feel his glare on the back of her head, without even needing to turn around to verify it.

Squinting in the dim light, she stared at what looked to be some sort of bridge up ahead. "What _is _that?" she muttered, more to herself than to Sawyer. Without waiting for an answer, she quickened her pace and hurried forward to investigate.

It _was _a bridge, but the flimsy structure just barely fit that designation. Apparently built in haste for the use of hikers, it was held together only by rope and planks of wood, and it was impossible to tell how stable it was. It hung above the precipitous drop, bowed down and sagging in the middle, anchored by thick posts drilled into the ground on both ends.

"_Great_," Sawyer said under his breath as he approached behind her. "Thought these things only existed in Indiana Jones movies."

Tentatively, Kate stepped up onto the edge, resting her hand on the rope to see how sturdy it felt. She took a careful step onto the first plank. The bridge swayed slightly, but the boards felt solid and didn't show any signs of rot.

"Wait," Sawyer said, alarmed. "Let me go over first and test it out. If it'll hold my weight, it'll damn well hold yours."

She cast him a dismissive glance over her shoulder, and then started toward the middle of the bridge.

"_Or_," he said with sarcasm, cocking his head, "You could just go on across and risk your life. _Whichever_."

When Kate had safely reached the other side, she stepped down onto the ground and looked back across. Sawyer still stood near the base of the bridge, watching her. Even in the dying light, his face looked haggard and weary, and she could see that the situation with Meg had affected him as deeply as it had affected her. It was just that he was so much better at hiding it. They stared at each other across the gaping crevice of the gorge, and then Kate forced herself to look away from his eyes. She needed to hold onto her anger, and it wouldn't be possible if this went on too long.

"You coming or not?" she called back. He didn't answer, and as the seconds stretched out, she waited tensely, wondering how she could save face if he said no. The thought of walking into these woods again without him behind her was horrible.

Finally, after what felt like ages, he hoisted himself up onto the edge of the bridge, and, keeping both hands on the rope rails on either side, made his way across. Kate inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

As he stepped down and took his right hand from the rope, she noticed a flash of red - that unmistakable, sickly-bright hue of blood. Momentarily forgetting her reserve, she grabbed his wrist. "What happened?"

He looked down at his palm without much interest, as if it belonged to somebody else. "Cut it on the windshield when you just couldn't wait to get out and explore Munchkinland. Remember?"

Ignoring the hint of blame in his tone, she pressed lightly with her fingertips around the gash. The bleeding had nearly stopped, but his hand was still sticky and wet. As she touched the center of the cut, he drew in his breath with a hiss and yanked his hand away. "You _mind_?"

"I think there's a shard of glass in there," Kate said, glancing around distractedly. "We need to find a way to get down to the water."

Still scowling, Sawyer looked away from her and examined the bank of the stream from their new position. The wall of the gorge wasn't quite as steep on this side. "There," he said, gesturing to a spot on past the bridge where a more gentle grade and a series of boulders and jutting ledges seemed to provide a natural stairway to the bottom. They moved toward it, and Kate started down first, going slowly to keep her balance, placing her feet with precision. Sawyer followed, a bit more awkwardly, but with no major mishaps.

Near the water, he collapsed onto a flat stone, winded. "They can say whatever they want about the cold up here, but I'm sweatin' like a prostitute in church after that little jaunt," he said.

"Give me your hand," Kate said, kneeling down beside him. He complied with reluctance, and she rinsed the nearly-dried blood off and then angled his palm upward toward the last remaining light. Biting her lip in concentration, she formed her thumb and index fingers into pincers and cautiously tugged on the minuscule piece of embedded glass. It came out in one piece, shaped like a tiny icicle. "Got it," she said with muted triumph.

"_Christ_," Sawyer said, grimacing in pain and jerking his hand out of her grip. "You gotta act like you enjoy it so much?"

She flicked the glass away and washed her hands in the clear, bitterly cold stream. "Don't be a such a baby."

"Oh, _I'm _a baby?" he asked indignantly. "That sure hurts comin' from you, Freckles, seein' as how you were such a _trooper_ when I tried to get that metal out of your arm. You damn near passed out." He paused for a moment, throwing his head back with a funny expression, thoughtful. "It seem strange to you that we're always pickin' stuff out of each other?"

Kate had the urge to laugh at this remark, but she restrained the impulse, instead pretending to ignore him. Standing up, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gazed around. Her eye was caught by a wedge of darkness opening into the side of the bluff, further downstream. She peered with more concentration, hopeful. "Does that look like a cave to you?"

He turned in the direction in which she was staring. "If I say yes, does that mean we have to go _in _it?"

"We need someplace to stay. We can't just keep walking without any light."

Sawyer didn't look at all excited by the prospect. "I'm thinkin' there's a good chance it might already have tenants of the four-legged variety, sweetheart. Quality property seems to be scarce around here." He pulled the gun out again as a precaution.

Kate took a deep breath. "There's only one way to find out," she said, moving toward the entrance. "Maybe if you're lucky you'll get to shoot another bear."

He scoffed. "Sounds like the perfect ending to a swell day."

Approaching the dark, yawning gap tentatively, Kate took a brief glimpse at what was visible of the interior, and then stood aside to allow Sawyer to pass.

"Oh, so _now _you want me to go first?" He gave her a smug look. "What's a' matter, Xena... Don't think you can fend 'em off with your bare hands?"

Kate closed her eyes briefly, waiting for him to decide to shut up and move into action. She knew that no force on earth would hurry him along if he thought he still had another one-liner to deliver.

At his own pace, he held the gun out in front of him in preparedness for whatever might be looming in the dark ahead of them, and stepped inside. Kate followed, lingering just behind him. Immediately beyond the tiny entrance, there was a sharp turn, and then the space widened out into a semi-rectangular chamber, about the size of a high-school basketball court. It was dimly visible with a pale, milky light, and Kate looked up, confused. There was an aperture in the ceiling showing a chink of gray sky.

"Looks empty," Sawyer said, scanning the area with caution. He slowly lowered the gun back to his side, relaxing his stance.

"That's why," Kate told him, gesturing up towards the crack. "It's no good for hibernation anymore... Probably lets in too much snow." Noticing something on the stone floor, she bent down and poked at it with the toe of her shoe. "These droppings are old. I'd say at least two years."

Sawyer made a face of mild disgust. "I don't even want to know why the hell you have that kind of expertise." He glanced up again. "Least it's good for ventilation... means we can have a fire. I'll go gather up some wood."

Kate straightened up, looking at him sharply. "What? We're not having a _fire_. You want to lead him right to us?"

He stared at her like she was crazy. "Maybe it hasn't come to your attention yet, but we're in the goddamn _Yukon_. And I don't know about you, but I'm not really itchin' to wake up in the form of a popsicle tomorrow morning."

"Sawyer, it's too risky! He could see the smoke."

"Then let him see it. I'll have a bullet in him before he even gets his head around that corner." Growing more serious, he lowered his voice and leveled his gaze at her. "Look, I get where' you're comin' from, with the whole _smoke signal_ danger thing. But this ain't a western we're starrin' in, sugar. It's gonna be black as tar out there before long, and I doubt even that deranged boy scout can track us down all on his own. So we're gonna have a fire tonight. Whether you like it or not."

Kate continued to glare at him. She knew deep down that what he was saying made sense - they could easily freeze to death in here without any source of heat. It was obvious that he was worried about _her_, primarily, whether he tried to phrase his arguments selfishly or not. She also knew that when he got that firm, unyielding glint in his eyes, he could be even more stubborn than she was. After a few more seconds, she swallowed hard, as if suppressing her frustration, and then looked away from him. "I'll get some rocks to make the pit," she said quietly.

Visibly relieved that she'd given in, Sawyer followed her back outside. They separated and began searching for materials to make a fire, both keeping an eye out at all times for uninvited company.

* * *

Within an hour, complete darkness had fallen. Kate stood in the entry space of the cave, looking out at the night. The stars were brighter than she'd ever seen them before in her life, and they reflected a pale, luminescent glow on the cascading stream that ran through the bottom of the gorge. It would have been beautiful, if she'd been in any mood to appreciate it. But there was now no longer anything to keep her mind off of what had happened this afternoon. There were no distractions, and absolutely nothing to do, other than play the scene over and over again in her mind. Even by concentrating, she couldn't seem to imagine a different outcome. It was like it had all been inevitable, from the very beginning. That wasn't even close to being true, although it was the same thing she felt every time something like this happened. And yet oddly enough, this sense of things being predetermined and unavoidable didn't at all absolve her of her guilt. On the contrary, it made her hate herself even more.

A shadow fell across the flickering orange light cast by the fire, letting her know that Sawyer was approaching her from behind. "If you're keepin' an eye out for Santa's sleigh, you're a couple weeks early," he said, following her gaze up to the stars. "Unless he's just out cruisin' for hookers."

Kate didn't say anything. She waited for him to tell her what he really wanted, even though she already knew what it was.

After a few seconds, he did. "It's warmer by the fire. What the hell you standin' over here for?"

She lowered her eyes toward the water, focusing on the shallow ripples with a contemplative attitude. Letting Sawyer's question hang in the air, she finally spoke, in a strangely flat, quiet tone. "Do you think she's dead?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could sense the way his face darkened, the emotion he tried to hide.

"Yeah," he said simply.

"And what if she isn't?" Kate pressed on, her throat tight and constricted. She tried hard to keep her voice from shaking. "What if she's still out there right now, alive?"

"She's _not_," Sawyer said, just barely above a whisper, but with conviction.

She suddenly turned toward him, furious. "How do you know that? After what you did today, how can you expect me to take your word on _anything_?

"Oh, good, here it comes... Was wonderin' when you were finally gonna blow your top, sweet cheeks. You've had steam comin' out your ears all evening."

"Do you think this is a joke, Sawyer? Meg is _dead_!" She paused, hardly able to go on after uttering these words, though her outrage compelled her to. "She was one of the only people on this planet who ever gave a damn about us, and now she's dead. Because of _us_."

Sawyer attempted a smirk. "Mostly because of _me_, though, right? Ain't that what you're tryin' to say? Might as well just spit it out." Though he did his best to maintain his trademark sarcasm, it was plain to see that these words held a painful, all-too-literal truth for him.

Kate refused to let herself feel any pity for his misery. Not tonight. She wanted to make sure he was hurting as much as she was. "Fine, then. Because of _you_. What the hell were you _thinking_? How could you do that to me!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "I told you what I wanted... I told you what I thought would be _safe_, and you pretended to agree with me! Then all of a sudden you just... you just, take the gun, and _lock me out _of the room?" Her voice rose in disbelief. "_Why_?"

She could see his jaw clench, and he looked away, out at the water, sullen.

"Answer me," she demanded.

Finally, he dragged his gaze back to hers. His eyes glittered darkly in the firelight, his words coming in a low, almost angry growl. "I did it for _you_."

Kate didn't know what she'd been expecting to hear, but it certainly wasn't this. Taken aback by the raw openness in his expression, she knew her own face must be registering some kind of wounded uncertainty. She worked hard to regroup, to gather her resentment back around her like a cloak. "_I didn't ask you to_," she said through gritted teeth, her voice a little unsteady.

He continued to stare at her, challengingly, not responding, but not apologizing either.

"Is this the way it's gonna be from now on?" she asked. "You do whatever _you _think is right, whether I agree with it or not?" Shaking her head in confusion, she went on. "It's never been that way with us. You were _never _like that! Why do you think I came to you in the first place? Because I knew you would help me without trying to interfere. I knew you would _listen _to me, and that I could trust you to do what needed to be done! We were supposed to be a _team_."

Sawyer seemed unmoved by this argument as he kept his burning, intense gaze locked on her. There was only the barest hint of regret in his tone when he said, "What can I say, puddin'? Guess things are different now."

There was no need to decipher the hidden code in those words. She knew exactly what he meant. With a tiny, bitter smile, she looked away from him. "Yeah," she said quietly. "You can say that again." It was a horrible thought, but she almost wished that she'd kept the pregnancy a secret until they'd reached permanent shelter. It had so drastically changed the way they interacted, altering their familiar tolerance of each other's autonomy by raising the stakes so much higher, by changing the very basis of what they meant to one another. Though how could she have known that he would become so overprotective? He probably wouldn't even have predicted it, himself. It was completely new territory for both of them.

But that didn't mean they could allow other people to get sucked into the vortex of their passion, pulled down into that swirling blackness along with them. _Innocent _people. People like Meg, who deserved to be walking and breathing and probably, if she had her way, smoking a cigarette right now. And instead, where was she? Killed in a needless crash, her body alone and deserted on a dark, freezing night in the middle of the wilderness. Kate felt like her chest would explode under the pressure of the helpless rage that consumed her.

"She didn't have to die, Sawyer! We could have bargained with him... We could have at least _tried _to cut some kind of deal! It might have worked!"

"And what if it _hadn't_?" he asked sharply. "What then?"

"Then," she said, her voice shaking badly. "We would have been screwed. You're right. But Meg would be _alive_!" She looked out at the night again, then back at Sawyer with a wild, unhinged despair. She felt like she was in a nightmare, where nothing made sense. "None of this ever should have happened. We shouldn't even be here! Why the hell did I go to Tennessee that night... What was I _thinking_, coming to you for help? I knew all along I was making a mistake."

She paused briefly, the need to hurt herself becoming almost as powerful as the need to hurt him. Dropping her tone to a malevolent lowness, she stared straight into his eyes and hissed, "_I should have gone to Jack_."

The change in his expression was so subtle, so restricted to his eyes, that someone who knew him less intimately than she knew him might not even have detected it. But to her it was obvious, and she knew just how to interpret it. It was the same old fear, repressed yet never vanquished, always ready to sneak up on him again when the opportunity presented itself - the fear that he was, and would always remain, the second choice. The fear that he was worthless, and inadequate, and _temporary_. Kate recoiled in horror from her own words, but it was too late. And now, out of nowhere, she suddenly retrieved a moment from earlier today that had completely disappeared from her mind. In her shock at being shoved from the bedroom of the motor home, and in the resulting chaos that followed, she'd somehow lost possession of it entirely. It only swam back up into her consciousness now, triggered by the visible effect on Sawyer of what she'd just said.

Before the accident, just a few hours ago, he'd told her that he loved her.

She didn't need to search her memory to know that it was the first time he'd said the words. It wasn't as if she'd been waiting for him to... It had never been necessary for them to say things of that nature out loud. They had simpler, more direct and primal ways of communication that worked just as well. But the fact was that he _had _said it. And now, she felt like maybe a part of her _had _been waiting for it, without even being fully aware.

Of all the times, though, for him to say those particular words, _that _was the time he'd chosen? Had he already known, when he said it, what he was going to do to her? Probably. That _bastard_, she thought, trying to call back her anger. It was all she had left.

In the few seconds it had taken for her to reclaim this nearly-lost fragment from earlier in the day, Sawyer had managed to channel his startled hurt back into the more comfortable modes of sarcasm and bitterness. He tilted his head back, smirking a little, pretending that he was amused by this. "Hell, Freckles, no need to sugarcoat things. Why don't you tell me how you _really _feel?"

The need to punish herself was all of a sudden overwhelming. Her vision became wavery as she tried to hold back tears. "I hate you," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Sawyer's smile became even more contemptuous at this, but there was also a hint of true admiration for her there, perhaps even affection. She got the vague sense that maybe he was enjoying this on some level, which pissed her off even more. Slowly, he moved toward her. She took a step backward, but the solid, rutted wall of the cave stopped her. Leaning in toward her, Sawyer rested one arm on the rocks next to her head. She could feel the heat from his skin.

"Say it again," he said quietly, like this was a game.

"_I hate you_," she repeated with slow, deliberate emphasis, wishing with all her heart that it was true, that she didn't mean exactly the opposite, and that he didn't _know _that she meant exactly the opposite.

Sawyer was delighted with her new secret code. His dimples seemed to be mocking her, his face just inches from hers. "I hate you too, sweetheart."

She was never able to determine which one of them moved first. Maybe it was simultaneous, like two magnets released a short distance from each other at the exact same instant. All she knew was that one second they weren't touching, and the next they were, with a vengeance. Her lips were smashed against his with bruising intensity, and every time they moved apart slightly and then back together, she scraped herself against his teeth, on purpose. She wanted him to suffocate her, to smother her, to choke her with his own tongue. She didn't care whether she got any air or not. She didn't deserve any.

He scraped the rough stubble of his face against her chin, then her neck, as they shrugged their coats off. Burying his hands in her hair on either side of her face, he gripped her head firmly and began attacking her mouth again. Dizzy with loss of oxygen, Kate let herself go limp, like a rag doll. With tingling arms, she shoved her hands up under his shirt, taking a few seconds to simply run her fingertips along his midsection, caressing the taut outlines of the muscles there. Then, with no warning, she dug her fingernails in, hard, scraping a line from the top of his chest down to his stomach. She felt him tense up and draw in his breath sharply, pulling back a little from where he'd begun pistoning kisses along her neck. In a flash of retaliation, he yanked her shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor.

She was pressed harder against the wall as he lowered his head to her breasts, and she closed her eyes, feeling her bra go the way of her sweater. The combination of the cold rocks against her back and the burning heat of Sawyer's mouth as it closed around her was intoxicating. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked on it, causing him to clamp down on her with his teeth, which was exactly what she'd wanted. As she increased the force of her pulling, he increased the pressure of his biting, until she arched her back in pain with a strangled gasp, feeling it reverberate throughout her entire body. She hoped he could taste blood.

Not understanding how he'd done it without her noticing, she realized that he'd worked her jeans down to her knees. Distractedly, she kicked them off the rest of the way, then reached for his waistband, tugging until the button popped open and she could work the zipper down. He wasn't wearing underwear. Why the hell wasn't he wearing underwear? she wondered. He raised his head up and grinned at her slyly, as if he'd done it on purpose for a surprise. _Damn_, he was good at this. Or maybe she was just really bad at doing laundry. In any case, it had worked out well for both of them.

She was overcome by a sudden sense of urgency, and her eyes gleamed with a self-destructive, desperate edge. Sawyer wasn't ready yet, and neither was she, but that was why it was important to start _now_. Her hand reached down and closed around him, and she gripped as hard as she could, tugging a little at the same time. She could see a muted surprise and confusion on his face as he leaned in to kiss her roughly again, but it wasn't his face she was worried about, and the rest of him responded just fine, with no delay. He suppressed a groan as she released her grasp and raised her hands to his shoulders, indicating that she wanted him to lift her.

"You sure you don't want to move this closer to the fire?" he said, brushing his mouth against her ear.

"No," she said emphatically, almost panting. "Right here. _Hurry_." She wanted to feel the rocks jutting into her back, scraping her skin.

Sawyer didn't argue. His hands closed around her waist and lifted her slightly off the ground. He tried to lower her slowly, but she forced her hips down in one deliberate movement, wanting to impale herself. Pain ripped through her again, and even before the echo of her cry had died out, she leaned back against the rocks, pulling Sawyer closer so that there wasn't an inch of space between their bodies. She began to move in a rocking motion, picking up speed immediately, forcing him to keep up. She could sense him holding back a little, which they'd been doing, without actually discussing it, ever since the pregnancy was confirmed. No matter what the books said, it just felt safer. But tonight, she didn't care. She needed to feel him driving into her as hard as he possibly could. She wanted it to hurt.

Despite Sawyer's apparent misgivings about the wisdom of all this, his reactions made it clear that he was only a man, and Kate's strange, emotionally unstable behavior was an undeniable turn-on. If this was what she wanted, then he could sure as hell supply it. They were too far into the game for any kind of rational thought to prevail. His thrusts were as hard as he could possibly make them, and still she wanted them to be more brutal, more violent. They were both bathed in sweat now, their skin colored by the flickering orange of the campfire in the center of the small cave. Kate watched their shadows on the other wall, the giant distortions appearing to be that of some undulating, primordial beast. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see it anymore. Both of them were breathing raggedly, and Kate's features were contorted into a mask of calculated, willfully achieved agony.

She lost track of time, going into a kind of trance state where nothing existed except pure physical sensation. After who knows how long, she felt by instinct that Sawyer was going to reach the peak before she was. Good. She wasn't going to let herself, anyway. She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve it. Repeating it over and over to herself like a mantra, she felt Sawyer go rigid and lift her up tighter against him, his arms locking around her hard enough to cut off her breath again as he gave a muffled yell. She didn't deserve it. She didn't... Oh, God _damn _it, she thought, as her body suddenly tensed up of its own volition against his last few lunges, betraying her, overriding all the pain she'd achieved with concentric pulses of pleasure while she threw her head back with a long, shuddering, somehow defeated moan.

Sawyer's knees were giving out, and as he sank toward the ground, she slid down with him. He kept his arms around her, attempting to keep her skin from scraping the rocks. Collapsing exhausted onto the stone floor, they sagged against each other, trying to catch their breath. In the back of her mind, where emotions weren't formed into actual thoughts, Kate felt like a failure. She'd wanted some part of herself to suffer and to die, like Meg had. And all she'd succeeded in doing was making herself feel even more vibrantly alive. Which, in the most annoying irony ever, was probably just what Meg would have wanted.

Choking back sobs that she knew were soon going to overtake her, she pulled away from Sawyer and hurriedly began yanking her clothes back on, then her shoes. He watched her, concerned. With shaking arms, she wrapped her coat around herself, brushing the sleeve across her eyes, trying to keep it under control for a few moments longer. "I'm going out for a minute," she said.

"_Kate_," he said softly, starting to move toward her, unable to bear the torment on her face.

"No," she said quickly, warding him off with her hand. "Don't. I'll.." Her voice broke, and she tried again. "I promise I'll be back soon. Okay?"

Although it took an effort, he kept his distance, finally giving her one simple nod in a gesture of understanding. She had to give him credit for not intruding, for knowing when to back away and give her her space.

Turning away from him, she left the warm, lighted interior of the cave and rushed out gratefully into the freezing night.

* * *

There was something refreshing about a long, drawn-out, uninterrupted cry. By the time her grief-stricken weeping began to taper off, Kate already knew that she would be okay. Even if she didn't want to be, she would. Meg's last stern warning to never apologize still echoed in her ears. And though she wanted to scream out at the top of her lungs how sorry she was, she wouldn't allow herself to. She could at least keep _that _promise. It wasn't easy, but she could do it. And maybe, soon, the raw, aching misery and guilt would even fade into something she could live with, something that wouldn't stab her with remorse a hundred times a day. If the past was any indication, it would happen sooner than she preferred.

She washed her face in the stream, the water so bracingly cold that it actually burned. Then she approached the cave again, their temporary home, stopping just inside the entrance. Sawyer was staring into the fire with a look of profound, unrelieved sadness. She took a step closer, and he glanced up, noticing her with relief. Her eyes were swollen and puffy, her nose red, but she seemed to have achieved a measure of peacefulness. They looked at each other without saying anything. Kate moved toward the fire and sat down across from him, folding her legs underneath her. She held her hands out toward the flames, warming them.

Letting a decent interval elapse, Sawyer finally broke the silence. "Don't suppose there's any chance you stopped by Taco Bell while you were out, is there?"

She smiled weakly, still looking at her hands. "They were closed."

"Damn," he said, giving her a gentle smile in return. He appeared to remember something, and he reached into his coat, hopefully. Kate watched him. From the inner pocket, he withdrew the flask, satisfied that nothing had happened to it over the course of the day. Uncapping it, he took a swig, grimacing just a bit at the taste. As he lowered it, a thought occurred to him. He looked at Kate with a meaningful grin. She stared back at him, a slow, knowing smile transforming her features. Everything about this was oddly familiar.

"This remind you of anything, sassafras?" he drawled.

She drew her knees up to her chest, resting her arms on them. "Yeah," she said, clearly pleased at the memory. Almost in a whisper, she added, "Seems like a long time ago."

He thought about it. "Wasn't _that _long. Couple of those things I can think of that haven't changed yet. I still ain't ever seen you wear pink."

Amused, she said, "Yeah, well... Don't hold your breath for that one."

He smiled and took another drink. After considering, he said with a pointed look, "And I still ain't ever been married. So I guess we both got some projects left to work on."

Kate's smile faded slightly, and she looked away from him into the fire, with a regretful air.

Changing the subject, Sawyer said teasingly, "All right, so tell me the truth now. That day you chased me down in the jungle, offerin' up your services for hire... Did you think there was just the _slightest _chance you might get lucky that night?" His eyes twinkled at her, playful.

Kate rolled her eyes, but she seemed to find this funny. "We barely even _knew _each other!"

"Well, now... that wasn't exactly answerin' the question," Sawyer said with raised eyebrows.

She laughed, but seeing that he still waited for a response, she bit her lip, feeling her face heat up just a little. "I was... open to the _possibilities_. I won't lie and say I wasn't." She looked at him with an air of mock chivalry. "But you were a perfect gentleman."

"I knew I shoulda gone for it," he muttered, shaking his head with remorse, while Kate laughed again. "Look at you, blushing," he said, staring at her. "Hell, don't forget what Meg always said, Freckles. Ain't no shame in it."

For the first time tonight, the thought of Meg didn't cause her the sensation of somebody plunging a knife into her heart. She smiled sadly. "I'm really gonna miss her."

Sawyer sighed, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Yeah," he agreed, a shadow passing across his face.

Kate was quiet for a minute. "I never got a chance to ask her about being the godmother. I don't know why I didn't do it sooner."

Sawyer glanced up at her, and then back at the fire. She caught the slight signals in his expression that indicated he was holding something back from her. "What is it?" she asked hesitantly.

He struggled for a few more seconds, but finally came to a decision. "I asked her. Today."

Narrowing her eyes in confusion, Kate said, "When?"

"While you were asleep. I know you wanted to do it yourself, but the damn woman got it out of me. Pretty sure she musta worked for the Soviets at some point in her life."

Kate processed this new information. It was so unexpected, like getting a second chance that she hadn't at all expected. "What did she say?"

Sawyer took another drink. "She said yes," he said quietly.

Feeling tears threaten to well up again, Kate swallowed, forcing them back. "Well..." she said with a trace of bitterness. "So much for that."

For awhile, they didn't talk. Sawyer got up to throw more wood on the fire. The flames leaped toward the ceiling, sending up sparks that blazed bright and then disappeared into thin air. It was warmer in here than they'd hoped for. The interior of the cave trapped the heat and held it surprisingly well. Sawyer even took his coat off, bundling it up behind him to provide cushion against the log he was leaning on. He'd dragged it in for firewood, but had decided it worked better as furniture. If only it could have functioned as food, too, he would have been perfectly content. His stomach apparently agreed with this thought, because it chose this moment to growl. Loudly.

Kate was balancing her chin on top of her folded arms. She lifted an eyebrow at him.

"It was my _stomach_," he said defensively.

"I know that," she said, smiling. A thought occurred to her. "Hold on." She dragged her backpack nearer to her and opened the front flap, digging around. After a little searching, she pulled out a Hershey's candy bar. "I forgot I had this."

"Where'd that come from?" he asked, intrigued.

"That little store today, the one with the cider. I bought three, but I already ate the other two, on the road." She seemed a little embarrassed. "I've sort of been getting... chocolate cravings lately. I know it's weird," she said, even though Sawyer didn't seem to think it was weird. In fact, it seemed to have some kind of secret meaning for him, though she had no idea what that meaning might be. She touched her stomach. "I've always loved chocolate, but I've never really _craved _it before, until now. I think maybe she..." Here she bit her words back, abruptly, looking alarmed at what she'd started to say. Hastily retracting, she corrected herself. "I mean, I think the baby wants chocolate."

She should have remembered, of course, that Sawyer never missed anything. There was no way to con a con-man. He leaned forward, his attention rapt. "Did you just say _she_?"

"No," Kate insisted.

He ignored this answer. "You think it's a girl, then?"

She started to deny her verbal slip for a second time, but then sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. But I'm probably wrong," she added, almost as a warning.

It was clear, though, that Sawyer didn't think she was wrong. And truthfully, she didn't think she was wrong either. She watched him taking in this fact, absorbing it. His eyes took on a far-away aspect as he stared into the fire, his face gradually assuming that softened, vulnerable, caught-off-guard look that she so rarely got to see. There was both fear and wonder in his expression. When he looked like that, she wanted to call him James. She wanted to make sure nobody would ever hurt him again for the rest of his life. She wanted to marry him.

What she did was hold out the candy bar. "Here," she said. "It's all yours."

He looked at it, then back up at her. "You keep it."

Closing her eyes briefly in annoyance, she said, "Sawyer... You're hungry. I _heard _your stomach."

"I ain't that hungry," he argued. He lifted the flask. "This here's like a meal in itself," he said comically, taking another drink.

"Would you please just take it?" she insisted, still holding the candy bar toward him.

He refused. "You eat it. You need it more than I do, girl."

Kate gave a heavy sigh. Irritated, she tried to think of another way to get him to give in. He was just so _stubborn_. True, she was the one carrying a child, but that didn't mean she couldn't look after herself. If she was hungry, she would eat. She didn't need somebody else to advise her. She opened her mouth to say some of this out loud, but for some reason, the words died in her throat. He was looking at her as if he couldn't believe she was really there, as if he had to keep staring at her to prove it to himself. There was a fierce protectiveness evident in his gaze, but instead of bothering her, for the first time she felt the value of it. And although the explanation was a simple one, the reason for this change in him had never occurred to her until now. She suddenly understood that this was the first time in his life that he'd ever _had _something to take care of... something to protect. His actions in the RV earlier were the only ones possible for him. It now seemed a little ridiculous to her that she'd asked him to bargain with Paul for her safety.. to bargain for her _life_. He would give up his own life before he would stoop to that. And she hadn't even appreciated it.

Staring down at the candy bar, she made up her mind to accept it. But more importantly, she decided to accept what it stood for, what he was trying so hard to offer her, what he'd _been _trying to offer her for a long time now, if she was honest with herself. Resistance had been a point of pride, but she'd been dragging her feet, still living in the same world they'd left behind in Tennessee. Their world was different now. The trial period was over. She couldn't even begin to imagine a future without him anymore, and she hoped she would never have to. What they had together felt more permanent than anything she'd ever known in her life. And he was the last person in the world she'd ever expected to find it with.

"All right," she said, returning the Hershey's to her backpack pouch. "But I'm saving it for breakfast," she added, just to let him know that she'd eat when she damn well pleased. She smiled at him.

He seemed amused by this, but didn't argue. "Suit yourself."

They watched each other over the fire for a while longer. Then Sawyer lifted his arm in a gesture of invitation. Slowly, Kate pulled herself to her feet and crossed the space to where he reclined against the log. Lowering herself to the ground, she leaned her head on his chest. He put his arm around her and rested his chin on her head. After a few minutes, they both closed their eyes.


	27. Chapter 27

Okay, first off, a thousand apologies for how long it's been since an update - For those who only read here, you probably didn't see my annoucment at Lost-Forum about how I needed to wait until the finale was over so that I could concentrated on my Sawyer and Kate, because the fate of the real ones was taking up all my brain power. Now I have the summer to devote to finishing this fic.

And I want to say a very special thanks for so many of the long reviews this past chapter... After I posted it, for about a week I was having doubts and wondering if many people were still reading at this site. I was thinking that maybe I'd dragged it on for too long and lost a lot of readers. But your reviews really reassured me that quite a few people are still reading (and also, welcome to all the new readers who've just signed on!), so I really thank you for that. ;)

**Spinx **- you asked where my motivation comes from, since I already know what's going to happen. Well, it's simple - I'm dying for YOU all to find out what's going to happen. It drives me crazy to be the only one who knows what all this is leading to, and to be the only one who's "seen" the last few chapters play out in my head. It's lonely! I keep writing because I want everyone else to participate in my crazy visions, too. Lol.

The next update will be in a week or so - they'll be much more often, now that it's summer!

* * *

**Chapter 27**

There was something hard-edged and rectangular in his mouth, resting on his tongue. He could feel it as he struggled up out of sleep. Then the sharp corners began to dissolve, melting into a sweet taste, and Sawyer finally managed to open his eyes, already squinting in confused irritation. _What the hell was going on?_

Kate was sitting beside him on the cold stone floor, staring down at him with an expectant, vaguely amused air. The weak flames of the fire illuminated her freshly scrubbed face. "Morning."

He noticed the silver foil wrapper of the candy bar in her hand, realizing now that it was _chocolate _that was dissolving into liquid and trickling down his throat. Why in God's name was she slipping candy into his mouth while he was still asleep? He swallowed hard, sitting up with a grimace. "You tryin' to choke me, Freckles?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm trying to get you to eat something before you wake up enough to argue about it. We've got a long walk ahead of us, and we're gonna need all the strength we can get."

"Thought I told you I didn't want none of that," he said, staring at the wrapper.

"I ate most of it myself. I only gave you one square." She sounded deliberately patient, like she was talking to a child. It drove him crazy when she did that.

"Yeah, well, one damn square's probably enough to put me in a casket, sweet cheeks. Just so happens I'm deathly allergic to chocolate."

Kate's expression transitioned slowly to alarm, then growing horror. "_What_? You never told me that!" She glanced quickly toward the opening at the other end of the cave, as if she was prepared to rush out immediately for help. "Why didn't you _say anything _last night?"

His eyes sparkled with a roguish enjoyment, and he ducked his head a bit, trying not to laugh. "Gotcha."

Realization dawned on Kate, and the fear died away from her face, to be replaced by disgust. "That's funny, Sawyer," she said. "Really funny." She got up and began angrily rolling up the sweatshirt she'd used as extra cushioning to sleep on, stuffing it into her backpack and then pulling the drawstring tight with a vengeance.

Sawyer lazily followed her movements with his eyes, trying to gauge exactly how pissed she was. As far as he could tell, this particular instance fell somewhere toward the middle of the spectrum. She was more annoyed than the time he'd convinced her, with great effort, that the foam packing chips that came in the boxes with her new clothes were edible, but she wasn't nearly as offended as the time he'd suggested that one of her unfortunate bedroom techniques was like that of an old lady who wasn't used to her dentures yet. Though he had to admit, he thought to himself with an inward grin, she'd gotten much better at that. So the fight hadn't been for nothing.

He sighed heavily, feigning guilt. "You gotta get so high-and-mighty about everything? It was just a _joke_, all right?"

"Yeah," she said in a half-hearted way, standing up. "I get it. Better put your coat on. We need to start moving."

He didn't budge. "I ain't going anywhere with you while you're havin' yourself a little hissy fit. You gotta say you forgive me first."

She brushed her hair back, sweeping it into a knotted ponytail. "_Sawyer_..." she muttered distractedly.

"Say it."

Clearly exasperated, she closed her eyes for a second. "Fine. I forgive you. Now get up."

He held out his arm as if he expected assistance. Reluctantly, she grasped his hand and pulled, but instead of standing, he yanked her down to his level, covering her mouth with a forceful kiss before she had any time to protest. She made a weak effort to pull away, but he kept his hands locked around the back of her neck, and after a few seconds she gave in to it, relaxing. She rested her forearms on his shoulders and returned his kisses, drawing in a shaky breath when he finally tilted his head back and looked at her. Seemingly against her will, she eventually yielded and gave him a slow smile. All the tension immediately drained out of the moment, much to his relief. This particular maneuver always worked like a charm.

"That's more like it," Sawyer whispered.

She pushed his bangs off of his forehead. They were getting long again. "No more death jokes, okay?" she pleaded in a soft voice. "You don't know what that does to me."

He lowered his eyes, feeling a little sheepish now. He hadn't really wanted to scare her. He hadn't even counted on her falling for it. "Deal."

"You ready to go?" she asked.

He glanced toward the opening, noticing with a sense of weariness that the sun wasn't even up yet. "It's still dark outside," he pointed out. Maybe, against all odds, that fact hadn't come to her attention, and they could just go back to bed for a few hours.

Kate pulled herself back to her feet. "It's really early. But... I think it'll be safer this way. I want to go back to the RV."

Sawyer glanced up at her sharply, surprised. "What? _Why_? Thought you said we needed to head north." The thought of going back to that wreck, back to Meg's body, to what they might find there... it made his stomach turn.

"We do. But we need to try to salvage whatever food we can... maybe try to find some more ammo. We can't just start walking into the wilderness with nothing. Especially not if he's still following us."

"I'm sure you don't want to hear this, but I don't think it's a good idea," he said, gazing at her steadily. Even that was an understatement. He thought it was the worst damn idea he'd ever heard.

She held his stare. "I know. But I _need _to do this. I need to make sure..." Here she paused, forcing the next words out with obvious pain. "I need to make sure she's really gone. We can't just walk away without knowing, Sawyer."

He looked at the ground, miserable but realizing that she was probably right. With a sigh, he stood up and began pulling his coat on. Kate hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder and let her eyes wander around the interior, the same way she'd always double-checked their motel rooms to make sure they weren't forgetting anything. Only this time, they'd barely had anything with them to begin with.

"You think we should put the fire out?" she asked.

He scoffed. "What for? You afraid we're gonna burn down the cave?"

With a tiny smile as if she should have expected this response, she headed toward the opening. "Let's go."

Just outside, on the rock ledge above the stream, Sawyer stopped to take a leak against the wall. Kate paused to wait, just barely containing her impatience to get moving, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye, suppressing a smile. He was willing to bet that if she'd been wearing a watch, she would have been glancing at it and tapping her foot. In order to show her that she couldn't rush him, he took as long as he possibly could.

He splashed some water on his face, and then they retraced their steps from the day before, climbing up out of the canyon onto the cliff's edge. Sawyer followed behind her as they headed back toward the bridge. The sun was just beginning to rise, but it still wasn't possible to see more than a few yards ahead.

When Kate came to a sudden halt, he was so close that he barely avoided running into her. "What is it?" he asked. Then he followed her gaze.

The bridge was gone.

Or to be more specific, he thought, as he examined the situation closely, it wasn't _gone_. It was still there, but it hung against the wall on the opposite ledge, stretching down like a dilapidated ladder towards the water. They both stared at it for a minute, trying to make sense of what they were seeing.

"Maybe the weight yesterday was too much for it," Sawyer said, a bit bewildered.

"No," Kate said quietly. He looked at her. She moved over to the posts on this side, where the bridge was supposed to connect. With one hand, she delicately fingered the edge of a short piece of rope sticking out from the pole. "It's been cut." He could see that she was right. The fibers were all sliced cleanly through.

Looking around with a nervous, hunted expression, Kate whispered, "He's on this side."

Sawyer felt a dull, low rage in the pit of his stomach. Seeing that inevitable dread in her eyes made him almost physically ill. Even though it was a terribly outdated notion, he couldn't help feeling that it was _his job _to keep that look off of her face. He glared into the obscure, dark shadows around them, wondering if they were being watched even now. "That _son-of-a-bitch_," he said under his breath. He closed his hand around the gun in his pocket, knowing that it wouldn't be much use when he couldn't see anything, but figuring it was better than being completely unprepared.

"He must have gone on ahead without knowing we were down there," Kate said, examining the ground and the slight trail that led up from the bridge.

"Can you track him?"

She bit her lip, considering. "Maybe." Collecting herself, she nodded, trying to seem more confident than she probably felt. "I think so, yeah."

"Then I'd say we need to try to find _him _before the bastard finds us," Sawyer said.

Kate met his eyes, agreeing. Then she glanced back across the ravine, in the direction of the motor home. Her expression was regretful and sad. "We should have gone back last night when we had the chance."

Sawyer stepped toward her and put his hand on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around and look at him. "We _didn't _have the chance," he said firmly. "And you know that as well as I do, so there's no damn use in makin' yourself miserable over it."

She sighed, scanning the ground in order to pick up the general direction of the trail. "This way," she muttered in a tone of resolution, and started walking.

* * *

Over the next few hours, the sky lightened from gold to rose, then to a pale blue which became sapphire as the sun climbed higher. It was a cloudless, crystal-clear day. The river sparkled far below them, snaking through valleys and throwing off glints like diamonds. The trail they followed never moved far from the water, which was lucky, because they had no bottles to fill up. Sawyer had a feeling that if they turned away from the river toward parts unknown, Kate would ask him to empty the remaining whiskey from the flask to fill it with water, and he didn't want to have to do that. As it was, they had no food. It would be torture to waste the rest of the alcohol into the bargain.

Although the air was bitterly cold and kept their exposed skin numb, their constant motion allowed them to stay relatively comfortable. Sawyer was even sweating underneath his heavy coat, still weighted down with the cash they'd been hauling around with them all this time. He would have liked to take it off, but then he still would have had to carry the damn thing, so it didn't seem to be worth the effort.

As they walked, he tried to remain alert at all times, on the lookout for Paul. He stayed as quiet as he could, not wanting to distract Kate. She was busy paying attention to the details, tracking the guy and making sure they stayed on the right path, so Sawyer tried to keep his mind on the big picture, scanning their surroundings to prevent them from walking into a trap. He payed enough attention to her, however, to notice when she started to look tired, and at the first sign of exhaustion, he called a time-out. For once, she didn't argue.

It seemed to be about noon, or maybe a little after. After getting a drink from the river, they sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, just off the path in a wooded area where they were somewhat hidden. They both tried to ignore the fact that it was lunch time, and they had nothing to eat.

"What the hell did he come all this way for?" Sawyer asked, confused. "Did the idiot really think he was following us?"

"I don't know," Kate said. "It doesn't make any sense. If he knows anything at all about tracking, he must have known that he wasn't on our trail."

"Maybe he doesn't," Sawyer said.

She looked at him, questioningly.

"What if all that mountain-man bullshit was just an act? He could have gotten himself lost out here, for all we know."

"Maybe," Kate said, not looking convinced. "But he's still out here somewhere. And as long as he stays ahead of us, he has the advantage." She had a vague air of defeat about her, as if part of her was already giving up, detaching itself from the future they'd been striving so hard for. Hell, they hadn't been caught _yet_, had they? Why was she acting like everything was hopeless? He'd be damned if he was going to let her give up when they'd made it so far. Not when they were _this _close. But instead of mentioning any of this specifically, he decided to try to lead her thoughts in a different direction.

Looking around, he took in the wide sweep of the overwhelming scenery. In a contemplative voice, he said, "So, this is about what it's gonna look like up there, right? Where we're gonna live? Have to admit, it ain't as bad as I thought it'd be. Guess I was expectin' something more along the lines of ice floes and glaciers."

She looked out over the mountains, shading her eyes. "It's beautiful, isn't it? It'll be even better in the summer. Did you know tourists come from all over the world to see the wildflowers up here?"

"That so?" he asked, sounding interested. He didn't give a damn about any wildflowers, but if it made her happy, he was glad she'd thought of it.

"Of course, since this place we're going to is a wildlife preserve, it might look a little different. I'm not sure how that works."

"That's _right_," he said, remembering now. "Caribou, wasn't it? What the hell _is _that, anyway... some kinda moose?"

Kate held back a laugh. "Close. They're reindeer. But Meg said he also has horses."

"_Great_," Sawyer said, unexcited. "More stables to shovel out."

"At least it'll give us something to do." She looked down towards the water, wistfully. "Maybe we can learn how to ride bareback. I've always wanted to be able to do that." Then she glanced at Sawyer again, suspiciously. He was giving her a meaningful, closed-mouth smile. "Go ahead," she said, shutting her eyes with weariness.

"Go ahead and _what_?" he asked, all innocence.

"I know you want to say something perverted. Might as well get it over with."

"Well, now, it ain't any fun if you're expectin' it," he protested.

She grinned at him. "I'm _always _expecting it."

Bested at his own game, he decided to leave his dirty comments about riding bareback for later. After a few seconds, he gathered the courage to bring up a topic that still felt dangerous to mention out loud, even though they seemed to have moved past that. It was just a leftover instinct, he supposed.

"What about the kid?" he asked, pulling at a piece of bark and not looking directly at her.

"What about it?" she echoed, after only a slight pause.

"I'm just sayin'... if it's a girl, like you seem to think it is..." He tried to think of the right way to phrase what he wanted to say. "You imagine she'll like it up here?"

Kate seemed a little amused by this. "Well, it's not like she'll have a lot to _compare _it to."

Feeling he was being made fun of, Sawyer said defensively, "You know what I mean."

Relenting, she changed her tone. "I know. And, yeah... it might be a little lonely sometimes. But for a kid, what's not to love about a place like this? Rivers and lakes everywhere... animals to watch... mountains and trees to climb. It's like paradise."

"She ain't gonna be climbin' no trees," Sawyer said, only half-joking. The thought already made him nervous.

Kate smiled, eyebrows raised in a challenging way. "Oh, she's _definitely _going to be climbing trees. So you better get used to the idea."

They were both quiet for a minute, perhaps absorbing the fact that they'd just had their first argument about parenting. The terrifying and absurd nature of the situation they'd gotten themselves into presented itself with renewed force. Would they ever feel ready for this? If only it hadn't happened so _soon_, Sawyer thought for the hundredth time. If only they'd had a little more time to get used to each other, to have the chance to prepare for a step of this magnitude. But everything about their relationship had been sped up and lived at a fever pitch. Why should this be any different? But still... _Those goddamn worthless condoms_, he thought bitterly. Though even to himself, his bitterness lacked conviction. How was it possible to dread something so much and yet be so excited for it at the same time?

After a few seconds, he started again in a bargaining tone. "Tell you what. How 'bout we build a treehouse instead. That be good enough?"

Kate considered, bringing her feet up onto the log and wrapping her arms around her knees. "Will it turn out as well as the doghouse you built?" she asked with a gleam of humor in her eyes.

Sawyer made an exaggerated sound of pain, putting his hand to his heart. "That was low, Freckles."

She dipped her head toward her knees, giggling silently.

"I'll plan it out beforehand this time, all right, smart-ass? And you can help, since you obviously know everything anyway. How's that sound?"

"It could be fun," she admitted. "Maybe it could have different levels... and a little hatch door that opens at the bottom. Oh, and a rope ladder, that you can pull up away from the ground to keep people out. I always wanted one of those when I was a kid." A shadow flickered briefly across her face, but then she smiled again. He hated to think about why she'd felt the need for a treehouse she could "keep people out of" as a child, but it wasn't hard to imagine.

"Never too late," he said, watching her.

She stared back at him, and he thought he could see a thankfulness there... an appreciation of his efforts. "We'll see," she whispered. And to his immense relief, he noticed that she'd reclaimed her determination. Maybe, at his urging, she'd been reminded of everything they had to lose. Whatever the cause, though, he could see that she now she had her fighting spirit back.

Standing up, she took a deep breath and let it out as she gazed ahead of them, steeling herself. "We've got to be getting close." She turned back to him. "Keep the gun out from now on, just in case."

"Already got it," he said, showing her. She nodded, not surprised.

With empty stomachs yet renewed resolution, they started walking again.

* * *

The afternoon wore away as the morning had. They stopped every once in a while to get a drink of the clear, ice-cold water, but for the most part, they kept moving. The landscape didn't change, other than to become slightly more steep and rocky. The river widened and slowed down as they followed it further north. In places, it was coated with solid ice, the water flowing underneath it and emerging downstream. They saw hardly any animals at all. Kate said it was because Paul had already been through here and they'd probably caught his scent and had taken cover. Sawyer was disappointed - not because he wanted to sight-see with nature's critters, but because he wanted to kill something and cook it. Of course they weren't anywhere near the danger levels of hunger yet, but it had been over twenty-four hours since he'd eaten, and every now and then, he felt brief spells of light-headedness. Deep down, though, he was more worried about Kate than about himself. She needed to keep her strength up more than he did, and that damn candy bar she'd had this morning at the crack of dawn barely counted as food. He took her backpack from her, in spite of her protests, to lessen the burden of the weight she had to carry, even though it wasn't that heavy to begin with. At least it made him feel a tiny bit more useful. Still, though, they had to eat something soon. But how?

As they walked into the late afternoon without seeing any trace of the man they were supposed to be chasing, the combination of cold, hunger, and exhaustion began to make itself felt in the form of irritability with each other, mostly focused on trivial things. At one point, Kate started to sniffle. Sawyer managed to ignore it for a good half hour until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Don't you have a hanky or somethin' you could use?" he finally demanded.

She spun around and stared at him. "A _hanky_?" she repeated incredulously. "You know what, I think we must have forgotten to pack those when we were_ running for our lives_, Sawyer." With a flourish, she wiped her nose on her coat sleeve and kept walking. Though it was disgusting, Sawyer was a little proud that he had a girlfriend who was willing to wipe her nose on her own coat sleeve. She could run with the boys, that was for damn sure.

A few miles later, she pointed out to him that his shoelace was untied. He glanced down at it, but didn't stop. When it became clear to her that he didn't intend to tie it, she made a tackling motion at his leg and held onto it, keeping it stationary while she roughly pulled and knotted the strings of his boot as if she had a personal grievance against them. He stared down at the top of her head, amused and yet feeling vindicated for the sniffling incident. It was funny, though, how these little tiffs made him want to take her to bed, immediately. If he wasn't so sure that his entire lower body was frozen and wouldn't work right, he probably would have made the effort, right out here in the open.

Finally, as the day wore on, he decided to bring up the food situation. He knew it would probably cause an argument, but he needed to know what her thoughts were. As it turned out, she wasn't very reassuring. Like him, she didn't have any idea what they would do.

"If it was spring or summer, I could at least find some mushrooms... maybe some berries, or something like that," she explained, sounding out of breath. "But not this time of year. All we can hope for is to get some game, somehow. But that isn't the right kind of gun for hunting."

"What about fish?" he asked.

"We don't have any line, or hooks... I don't see how it would work. What are we gonna do, catch 'em in our hands?"

"Bears do it," he pointed out.

Kate rolled her eyes. "That's not much of an argument."

"Maybe we could find a bear that's already got himself a stash of fish... then we just kill him, and take it all."

She laughed in a mocking way.

"_What_?"

"If we managed to kill a bear, don't you think it would make more sense to just... _eat the bear_?"

"Well, hell, Annie Oakley... since you're such a damn pro at all this Wild West stuff, why don't you just lasso us up some buffalo? Then we could have some venison steaks and tell tall tales around the campfire."

"Venison is _deer_," she pointed out.

"I _know that_." He glared at her. The truth was, he _did _know that. His hunger was starting to make him feel a bit drunk. His words weren't even making much sense anymore, and the more he talked, the more he sounded like an idiot. Luckily, Kate still seemed to feel okay. He forced himself to keep moving.

By 3:00, the sun was already sinking. Although he knew that winter daylight was a precious commodity this far north, Sawyer hadn't fully appreciated the consequences until now. For the past week or so, they'd been isolated in the motor home, protected from the elements in their own comfortable, heated bubble. But here, there was nothing separating them from the wilderness. And it would be dark soon.

"Think we better consider findin' some place to settle in for the night," he said.

"I know. If we can get to the base of that mountain up ahead," she said, gesturing, "it'll be better than if we're out in the open. At least we'll only have to keep a lookout in one direction."

He gazed ahead to where she was indicating. It wasn't too far... maybe another twenty minutes or so of walking, though the grade was steadily uphill. It wasn't terribly steep, but still, it would be a good climb. Gathering his strength, he started up.

They walked in silence for awhile, the exertion required making conversation a luxury that wasn't worth the waste of breath. Near the halfway point, Sawyer asked, "Is this were he went?"

She glanced at him, sideways, evasively. "Um no... No, I don't think so." She seemed to be trying to make these words sound casual.

He waited. When she didn't elaborate, he pressed her. "Then which way did he go?"

She didn't answer for a second. He watched her, suspicious now.

"I'm not sure," she finally admitted.

"You're not sure?"

She sighed. "No. I'm not sure, okay? I lost the trail about two hours ago."

Sawyer halted, staring at her in bewilderment. "You did _what _now? Why the hell didn't you _say _anything?"

Now she came to a stop, looking embarrassed. "What difference would it have made? We still have to keep moving."

He didn't have a good answer for that, even though he knew that it _did _make a difference, and that she should have told him. She could justify it all she wanted to, but she was wrong this time. And by the look on her face, she damn well knew it.

"I can't _believe _you," he said scornfully. "So you've just been leadin' me on a wild goose chase with no damn geese in sight to speak of? And here I thought you were supposed to be an _expert _at this tracking shit. How do you just lose a trail? What did he do, beam himself up?" He knew this wasn't fair, and that she was doing her best, but he couldn't help it. He was pissed.

Kate seemed hurt by this accusation and had already taken a breath to reply, but she suddenly stopped. Swallowing hard, she looked down at the vista spread out below them. The orange glow of the sinking sun colored her hair a dark, rusted color. But even with the evening tints, her complexion seemed disturbingly pale, all of a sudden.

She squinted into the distance, like she was confused. "Everything is gray," she breathed weakly. It sounded uncertain, like a question.

Sawyer glanced down at the view, having no idea what she was talking about. He'd been expecting some kind of outraged rebuttal, but her words made absolutely no sense at all. "_What_?"

But before he'd even looked back at her, her eyes had slipped closed, her knees buckling with no warning as she sank quickly toward the ground. With a startled reaction, he reached out and caught her just before her head hit the solid rock. "_Kate_?" he said, sounding frantic. Carefully, he stretched her out on the ground and slid the backpack underneath her neck, his hands shaking.

"Hey," he said, snapping his fingers in front of her face. "Freckles!"

No response. Her skin was drained of all color.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" He patted her cheek lightly, then a bit harder, wondering if he should slap her. "You tryin' to get back at me for that chocolate scare this morning?" he asked. "Because I ain't as forgiving as you are."

Sawyer didn't expect a reply, and of course there wasn't one. She was as limp and still as a rag doll. Her chest still rose and fell in a shallow pattern, which he took note of, trying to keep himself calm. _It's just a little fainting fit... that's all_, he reasoned with himself. She was tired and hungry and _pregnant_, for crying out loud. Was it any wonder? She'd be fine. She'd wake up in a minute, and she'd be fine. She'd probably be ready to resume their argument.

But still, his heart pounded sickeningly as he waited. He'd never felt so completely alone and isolated and vulnerable in his entire life. The vast, indifferent emptiness of the wild stretched away from him on all sides, and he knew that the two of them were nothing but a pair of insignificant specks of humanity halfway up a rocky hill in a vast mountain chain in the middle of nowhere. But this was his _entire life_, lying here in front of him, unconscious, with her head on a backpack. His entire goddamn reason for living. How could anything about her ever be insignificant?

Somewhere in the distance, a hawk screamed with a menacing sound, hunting for its evening meal. It was the only sign of life he was aware of.

"_Freckles_," he whispered, his hands on both sides of her face. He smoothed her hair back and cupped her ears, which were freezing. Her lips were chapped and nearly as white as her face. Her actual freckles stood out starkly against the pale background. It felt like time had stopped.

Suddenly, her body gave a slight tremor, like a chill, and she drew in a deeper breath. The wrinkles gathered together on her forehead as she made an effort to open her eyes. Sawyer was almost dizzy with relief.

She looked at him, confused. "_What_...?"

"You passed out," he interrupted, not even bothering to find a sarcastic euphemism. "Said somethin' weird about how everything was gray, and then you just collapsed."

She closed her eyes again, looking sheepish. "Sorry."

Sawyer leaned back a little, waiting for his pulse to return to normal. After a few seconds, he helped her sit up, and she clung to his arm, getting her bearings. "I don't know what happened. All the color just... drained out of everything. And then this blackness started coming around the edges, like I was going into a tunnel. I've never fainted before."

"You need to eat somethin'," he said, staring at her, still concerned.

She didn't have a reply for this. What was there to say?

"Help me stand up."

He grabbed the backpack and carefully pulled her to her feet, keeping one arm around her waist, but then swept her legs out from under her with the other arm and lifted her all the way against him. She was as light as he'd expected her to be.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, immediately annoyed, as he'd also expected.

"We're almost to the top, anyway," he said, starting up the hill again, carrying her.

"Sawyer... I can walk. I'm fine."

He ignored her.

"This really isn't necessary. You haven't eaten either, you know. Would you please put me down?"

He exhaled loudly. "Why don't you just shut up and enjoy the ride?"

Shaking her head, she smiled. "You're such a Neanderthal."

He grinned down at her. "If I was a Neanderthal, I'd have just knocked you in the head with a damn club and been done with it. Least that would keep you from complainin'."

Putting her arms around his neck, she adjusted her torso slightly and seemed to settle in, accepting that he wasn't going to put her down. He felt her breath tickling his ear. "Were you scared?" she whispered, keeping her face hidden. It sounded like the answer was important to her.

For no good reason that he could think of, he felt his throat threaten to constrict. "What the hell do you think?" he asked, gripping the warm living weight of her tighter against him. She didn't say anything, but he felt her lips and then her cheek pressed against his neck.

When they finally neared the base of the mountain, the sky was a dusky purple. He could have carried her for another mile if he'd had to, but he was glad he didn't have to. He'd never been so tired in his life.

The ground leveled out again, and there was a series of long, river-shaped ponds stretching toward the north, cutting off this area from the western expanse by forming a natural boundary. As he scanned the place, he noticed that drinking at a break in the ice at one of the ponds were three deer. They twitched their ears peacefully, not yet aware of anything unusual. Sawyer froze.

Kate looked up to see why he'd stopped, and he slowly lowered her to her feet, his hand going to the gun again.

"The one in the back," she said, barely moving her mouth. He looked down at her, raising his eyebrows to make sure she wanted him to be the one to do this, and she nodded almost imperceptibly.

Steadying his hand, Sawyer raised his arm and cocked the gun. "Ain't nothin' personal, Bambi," he muttered. Kate grimaced as he pulled the trigger and the noise of the shot ricocheted against the solid rock wall in front of them, magnifying itself into a roar.

But it was a miss. He knew it even before the echo of the gunfire had died away. He hadn't even injured it. He hadn't hit the thing _at all. _

"_Son-of-a-bitch_!" he growled, his teeth clenched. He wanted to drive his fist into a tree.

Kate looked down at the ground, disappointed, but understanding. "Like I said earlier, it's not the right kind of gun..." she trailed off. "I wouldn't have made that shot either. And even if you'd hit it, it might have gotten away."

"You don't know that," he said, bitterly. He felt like a complete and utter failure. What the hell was he good for out here? He couldn't even get her _something to eat_, for Christ's sake. Even with a gun, he couldn't manage to wrangle up a meal for them. He was worthless.

"Sawyer," she said, reading his thoughts. She put her hand on his arm, and he reluctantly turned a dark, brooding expression on her. "We're not gonna starve to death in one day. We'll figure something out tomorrow, all right? We'll be fine."

He looked away, knowing that this was probably true, but not feeling any less pathetic because of it. "You sit down and rest," he ordered her. "I'm gonna get a fire goin'."

"Okay," she said quickly, offering as little resistance as possible in order to soothe his bruised ego. As if he couldn't see through _that _maneuver.

By the time he'd dragged together enough wood for a fire, it was completely dark. It couldn't be much past five in the evening, but the blackness made it seem more like midnight. The crackling heat went a little way toward making him feel better about things, but not much. They both stood as close to the warmth as they could get, thawing out their numbed skin. It was almost painful, as the feeling slowly came back. He knew they'd have to keep the fire built up all night in order not to freeze to death. This wasn't like the cave. They were under the open sky out here, and with the exception of the rock wall at their backs, there was nothing to trap the heat and hold it.

Standing close beside her, he stared into the flames, his body lulled and deadened from fatigue. He supposed they'd have to sleep in shifts all night to keep alert for wild animals and for the bastard who was still out there somewhere. He wasn't sure he could take another night of this. "How much farther you think that ranger station is?" he asked.

Kate pulled her gaze away from the fire with an effort. "Not far. Another few miles, maybe. We could probably get there tomorrow."

She paused, thoughtful. "I was thinking that we should probably pretend to be..." But she interrupted herself, looking up sharply. "Did you hear that?"

He hadn't heard anything. But they both listened, straining to hear through the unnerving silence around them.

"Good ears, Kate!" The man's voice came out of the darkness, seemingly from all sides at once. Sawyer spun around, aiming the gun, but with no idea of which direction to aim it in. Kate turned wildly, trying to see through the blackness.

"I'd put that down if I were you. Considering that I can see you but you can't see me. Doesn't seem exactly fair, does it?"

Though Sawyer tried to readjust to the direction the voice was coming from, the echo from the mountain made it too confusing to be certain. There was no way in hell he could hit anything without knowing where it was at. The light of the fire formed a sphere that kept the darkness at bay, but also trapped them inside it, like an illuminated snow globe. They were helpless as sitting ducks.

"Drop it, Sawyer," Kate said quietly, defeated.

He looked at her like she was crazy.

"Drop the gun," she repeated. "You know he's got one pointed at us."

He stared at her miserably, guilt-stricken and knowing that he'd failed her again, but also knowing that she was right. Letting the weapon fall from his hand was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. It hit the ground with a dull, useless thud. He didn't take his eyes from hers. She wasn't blaming him for anything. If anything, she looked apologetic. That made it a thousand times worse.

"Now come on over here, away from the fire," Paul said. He sounded almost regretful, like he didn't really want to have to do this.

Kate finally tore her gaze away from Sawyer's, moving out into the darkness like a sleepwalker. He followed. Not far outside the circle of light, they stopped, unsure where to go next. A small point of yellow appeared about forty feet away as Paul flipped on a flashlight which seemed to hang from his belt. He was standing on the opposite side of one of the frozen river-shaped ponds. A gun glinted in his hand. "This way," he said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a little chat. I think you two might have the wrong idea about me."

Kate hesitated, but only momentarily. There was nowhere to run. He had a clear, perfect target in the two of them. With gritty determination, she started to step out onto the ice. Sawyer grabbed her arm and jerked her back. Shocked, she looked up at him. But he stared ahead at Paul, over the frozen water.

"I got a better idea," he called. "Why don't you come on over here, and join the party? After all, we're the ones with the damn fire." He kept a tight, almost painful grip on Kate's arm, refusing to let her move forward a step.

Sawyer could just barely make out Paul's smile. "The man's got a point," he said. "It _is _a bit chilly out here, isn't it?"

As they watched tensely, he started toward them, stepping onto the ice while keeping the gun pointed at them the entire time. With cautious steps, he made his way across. His arms barely wavered, and his aim stayed deadly accurate. They waited without moving. Kate placed her hand on top of Sawyer's, squeezing his fingers.

When Paul was nearly to their edge of the pond, though, something happened. Something so unlooked for and shocking that even as they watched it unfold, it didn't appear to be real. A strange, horrible groan seemed to come directly out of the ground itself. Paul stopped, staring down at his feet, and then back up at them with an entirely different expression on his face. He dropped his arms. A creaking, heaving noise that was quickly followed by a deafening splash echoed through the night. He disappeared into the water, and for a few drawn-out, bizarrely calm seconds, there was silence. Then more splashing erupted into the quiet as an arm emerged from the water, groping and seeking desperately, followed by another arm. Kate and Sawyer stood rooted to the ground, staring, frozen in complete and utter astonishment.

Paul's head appeared for a few seconds, his mouth sputtering sounds of desperation, but then disappeared again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sawyer saw Kate start to move. He turned slowly, feeling like he was underwater himself. He watched her kneel down at the edge of the water, plunging her arms in. She pulled, but nothing happened. Turning back toward him, she yelled, "Help me!"

He couldn't understand what the hell she was doing. This was the answer to all their problems. This was _exactly _what would save them. The bastard would die, and they wouldn't even have to bear the responsibility for killing him. _What the hell was she doing?_

"Sawyer!" she yelled again, pleading. "Help me pull him out!"

And he knew, without a doubt in his mind, that he had to do it. Because she was Kate. Because she wouldn't stand there and watch a man die in front of her. And because she would never forgive him if he didn't help her.

"_God damn it_," he muttered, throwing his coat off. Forcing himself to move, he went forward and dropped down beside her on the solid patch of ice, reaching into the freezing water. His hands closed around fabric, and he pulled with all his might. Together, they heaved Paul's drenched, unconscious form up onto the bank. Kate put her ear to his chest, then his lips. "He's breathing," she announced. Sawyer marveled at how she could say that like it was a _good _thing. "I think he's just in shock, from the cold. We need to get him up by the fire."

Not bothering to argue, he stood with her and they each took an arm. With only a few strong tugs, they were there. She loosened Paul's soaking coat and pulled it away from him, quickly searching the pockets. "No other weapons," she panted. "The gun must have sunk when he went under." Looking around, she located Sawyer's coat on the ground and went back to get it, draping it over Paul with the intention to trap more warmth around his body.

"Kate," Sawyer said quietly, watching her. He waited for her to pay attention.

She finally raised her eyes up to him, with obvious reluctance.

"What the hell are we gonna do with him _now_?"

She looked at him for a few seconds, but then stared back down at Paul. Her features were dark and worried, but her eyes were inscrutable.

"I don't know," she whispered. She shook her head. _"I don't know."_


	28. Chapter 28

**honeypoppy0212** and **Chantal1986**: I'm not completely sure about a third part yet, but I have a lot of scenes popping into my head, the same way I did for this fic when I was doing In Hiding, so it's a good possibility. But if I do it, it'll most likely be shorter and cover a longer time span, with less microscopic detail to every moment of their lives like this one. Sort of like the interlude portion of IH.

**ashton**: It looks like this fic will end up being about 32 chapters, but everything always takes longer to tell then I think it will, so that could stretch into the 35-40 zone. It just depends on whether I can afford Starbucks when I'm writing. Kidding... (sort of. ;)

**Sawyerlover01**: Actually, Vigils was only supposed to be 6 chapters long - it ended waaay back in April 2005. It was mostly an experiment to see if I could handle writing the Lost characters (it was the first thing I ever wrote). I forgot to choose the "completed" tag when I posted it on here... Sorry for the confusion!

**badmamajama**: Nope, never been to the Yukon. I've had some great help from Canadian/Alaskan readers, though.

**This part copied and pasted from L-F because I'm lazy...**

A word about this chapter. In some ways, it's more "Kate-y" than "Skatey", at least for the bulk of it. I hope it doesn't lose your attention, because it's a very important part of the story that I had to get through at some point. And the perspective/POV is Kate's for the first (long) section, but then Sawyer in the second part. I usually try not to shift within chapters anymore (IH was ALL OVER the place in that regard - a total mess), but I needed to here.

Oh, and this is random, but I was skimming over Ch. 22, where Paul was first introduced, and I made a typo when I said he was around 40 - it was supposed to be 30, and I don't know how I never noticed that. But I'll fix it, so that everything aligns and makes more sense.

* * *

**Chapter 28**

Kate held the lighter in front of her, down low, as she crouched in front of the dark pile of logs and brush. She stared into it, flicking the button and making the tiny flame dance up over and over again, but her eyes were unfocused, looking through the pile rather than at it. Suddenly she jerked her hand back with a sharp hiss of pain as the lighter dropped out of her grip into the tangle of branches. She brought her burnt finger to her mouth and then turned her head. Sawyer was standing just behind her, watching. He looked worried.

"I can reach it," she assured him. Plunging her arm into the pile, she felt around on the ground until her fingers closed over the lighter. She pulled it out and showed him. "See?"

He took a few steps closer, still concerned - about _her_, apparently, not the lighter. "Why don't you just light the damn thing instead of starin' at it? You waitin' for your laser vision to kick in?"

Sighing, she turned back to the brush pile and flicked the lighter on again, this time bringing it to the wood and holding it steady until the flame caught. She pushed her hair back and blew on it softly as the blaze crackled and began to grow.

Now they had three separate fires, forming a triangular barricade around them and trapping the warmth in the center. As long as the wind didn't pick up, the smoke wouldn't be a problem. Kate looked straight up at the wisps disappearing against the inky blackness. The sparks mingled with the whiter points of the stars. It was a crazy thought, but a part of her wished that she could travel up with the smoke and sparks and disappear into thin air. To be that transient and ephemeral, to so easily cross the barrier between existing and not existing... Was that it would be like to die in a fire? she wondered dreamily. She felt the heavy, solid reality of her own body as a stark and nagging contrast. Sensing movement out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sawyer kneel down next to her.

"Hey," he said in a serious tone, trying to get her attention.

With an effort, she lowered her gaze to his. Their eyes locked. Then, in identical motions, they turned to look behind them, at the body stretched out between the first two fires. His chest rose and fell shallowly, the dampness already evaporated from his skin and hair. Over some low branches nearby, his shirt and coat hung, drying. He wore Kate's sweatshirt - the only extra clothing they had with them.

"He'll probably wake up soon," Kate said. "I don't think he was in there long enough for there to be serious damage."

"_Yeah_... good thing he had his guardian angel lookin' out for him, huh?" Sawyer muttered.

She closed her eyes for a second, pained by his words. "I know you don't understand. But I didn't have any choice. I couldn't just stand there and... and..."

"I know that," he interrupted her, seeing how hard it was her for her to speak about it. He looked remorseful now. "I ain't askin' you to explain anything."

He paused, and Kate watched him with a subdued gratefulness.

"Hell, I guess that's the difference between us, Freckles. I coulda stood there and watched it happen, and you couldn't." He seemed sad about this fact, and what it said about him. He lowered his gaze, speaking quietly as the firelight made shifting shadows on his features. "Here's hopin' the kid takes after you instead of me."

Kate swallowed hard against the knot in her throat, tears stinging her eyes. She tried to laugh, to lighten the atmosphere. "Careful what you wish for."

Sawyer smiled a bit, and they were quiet for the next few minutes. Kate watched Paul sleep, her face dark and afraid. Then, as if forcing herself to move, she stood and located her backpack, shaking off the dirt and fluffing up the canvas as much as she could. She positioned it near one of the fires, then took Sawyer's coat and spread it lengthwise away from the makeshift pillow, smoothing it out on its side so that one half could function as a mattress while the other side served as a blanket. The cash hidden inside provided plenty of padding, and although she'd made fun of the ridiculous size the first time she'd seen him wearing it, she had to admit that it had come in handy out here.

With a detached curiosity, Sawyer watched her quasi-domestic preparations. He seemed almost amused by the fact that in the middle of the wilderness, she'd managed to transform the campsite into a bizarrely cozy-looking _bedroom_. It was only when she glanced up at him expectantly that he realized the bed was supposed to be for him, and him alone.

"Forget it," he said, before she could even start in.

"You're the one who said we should sleep in shifts. And I'm not tired yet."

"What makes you think _I_ am?"

She rolled her eyes. "Because I know you well enough to know when you're exhausted. I can read the signs."

"Is that so?" he said with suspicion as she came back over to him. He stood up. "And what _signs _would those be, if you don't mind my askin'?"

"Well, for one thing," she said, "you get this weird, squiggly line on your forehead." Lifting her arm, she traced it delicately with her fingers. "It's only there when you're trying to hold your eyes open."

He made a sound of contempt. "There's no _line_." But she could see that the slow movement of her hand was making it even more difficult for him to keep his eyes from closing.

"If we had a mirror, I'd prove it to you... but I guess you'll just have to take my word for it." She smiled a little, but then grew serious. "It'll work better this way. We've got the only gun now, so he's not a threat, if that's what you're worried about. I'll wake you up in a few hours, and we can switch."

He sighed heavily, on the verge of giving in. After some more consideration, he said, "_One _hour."

Deciding it was best to let him make the terms, if that was what it took, Kate didn't argue. "Fine. One hour, then."

He continued to stare down at her for a second, then slowly pulled her against him. She leaned into his chest, putting her arms around him too. Her eyes closed as they stood there without speaking, hugging each other tightly. "I'll figure something out," Kate finally whispered. "I got us into this mess... I promise I'll figure something out."

She felt his hand rubbing circles on her back. "Tomorrow," he muttered wearily. "We'll worry about it tomorrow."

Stepping back with reluctance, he pulled the gun from his waistband and handed it to her. "You need my watch?"

"No," she said. "That's okay."

"_Right_," he said, narrowing his eyes as if he should have known. "You can probably tell time by the stars like a damn sailor, can't ya? If you're not too busy, maybe you could harpoon us a whale while you're at it."

She smiled and gave him a gentle shove toward the bed. "Go to sleep, Sawyer."

He left her with what he seemed to think was a charming smirk as he finally sauntered over to the bed. Rolling himself into the coat like a sleeping bag, he adjusted his head on the backpack and relaxed with an audible groan. Kate moved over to the second fire, at a point midway between the two men. She sat down and crossed her legs underneath her, letting the gun rest against her knee.

Within five minutes, she could tell that Sawyer was sound asleep by the change in his breathing. It was funny how you could become as familiar with somebody else's body as you were with your own, she reflected. She knew that in a few minutes he would kick his legs out in annoyance and shove the coat off of him, leaving his arms splayed out and exposed to the air. As if on cue, he did it, and she tried not to laugh. _And the bastard accuses me of stealing the covers_, she thought affectionately.

She watched him for awhile, then let her mind wander. There was no sound except for the crackling of the fires. She kept expecting to hear a wolf howl, or even an owl hooting, but there was nothing. Nature had no interest in keeping her company tonight, it seemed.

In the profound, lonely silence, she let her gaze travel toward Paul, finally allowing herself to wonder why she'd done it. Why had she pulled him out of the water? There was no clear answer that she could come up with, even to herself. She'd acted, or rather, _reacted_, on pure gut instinct. He would have died. There was no question in her mind that he would have died. And it wasn't as if he deserved anything from them. If it wasn't for him, Meg would still be alive. Then again, if it wasn't for the two of _them_, Sawyer and herself, Meg would still be alive. So he probably wasn't any more to blame than they were.

Searching her mind, she could come up with nothing. There was no reason why she should have saved him. And yet she knew that if she had to relive the moment over again, she would act in the same way, in spite of her own better judgment. Because it had nothing to do with judgment, or thought, or planning. Her instincts, her _heart_, sometimes acted on their own initiative, and there was nothing she could do about it. For her entire life, it had been this way. There had always been this gulf between the things she planned and the things she just _did_, naturally and spontaneously. It was the two parts of her nature, the good and the bad, the warm and the cold, acting in opposition to one another. It was what she'd never understood about herself. With most people, wasn't it supposed to be the instincts that were suspect? That was why you couldn't trust them, why everyone said you should take a step back, look at the big picture, think about things rationally. Well, she'd been thinking perfectly rationally when she stood in front of the cashier at the hardware store and bought the gallon jugs of gasoline. She'd been thinking rationally when she called the insurance company, talked with the woman on the phone - Carol, her name had been, a pleasant lady probably in her sixties who called her _Hon _- and taken out the policy. She'd even been thinking rationally when she went through the house, dousing it, trying not to breathe in the fumes, pouring the noxious fluid on her own childhood bed, her own empty room. And then when she sat down on the porch to wait, the final step in a logical process. It had all been deadly rational.

The things she planned were always the wrong things. Going to say goodbye to her mother had been planned, and Tom had died because of it. The bank robbery with Jason had been planned to the last detail, and look what it had eventually led to. If she lived to be a hundred, the memory of gushing blood in a gray cornfield would never leave her. And there were countless other instances she could name. In fact, she couldn't recall anything she'd ever decided on in advance that had ended well. This desperate journey to some unknown haven in the Yukon would probably be no different, if tonight was any indication. Maybe they would have been better off just closing their eyes and throwing a dart at a map. For the first time, she grasped a truth that had always eluded her, perhaps because she'd never had the courage to examine it up close. But tonight, she finally understood that the only good things she'd ever experienced were the ones she hadn't planned, the ones she never could have foreseen. Like getting arrested in Australia. Or the plane crash, as crazy as it sounded.

Or Sawyer.

Sawyer most certainly wasn't planned, she thought to herself with a secret, inward smile. Neither was the tiny, vulnerable potential life that was fighting for existence inside of her at all times, when she was aware of it and when she forgot to be aware of it, which happened rarely. All of that had occurred in spite of her plans, as if to thwart her own intentions for the future, for where and even for _who _she'd thought she was supposed to be. Her life was nothing but a series of perfectly strategized catastrophes and accidental miracles.

But where did that leave her now? She didn't have any idea. They could try bribing him, she supposed. It was what she'd wanted to do to begin with, even though she knew deep down that it was an incredibly risky maneuver that would, at the most, only buy them time. Still, though, it was worth a shot.

There was no use worrying about the details yet, however. Instead, she decided to throw some wood on the first fire, which was getting low. She felt the need to _do _something. Sitting around, thinking, was an activity she knew she couldn't let herself overindulge in.

Tucking the gun into her waistband, she gathered a few of the smaller pieces into her arms from the woodpile Sawyer had made earlier. At the first, and largest, fire, she tossed them on one at a time, then used a long stick to stir the embers and position the logs better. Hearing muttering, she turned her head sharply.

Paul was awake, staring at her.

She froze, dropping the stick. Then her hand slowly went to the gun. She knew she probably wouldn't need to use it, but she wanted him to know that she _had _it. He watched her movements, confused.

"I fell through the ice?" he said, as if to himself. His voice was scratchy and weak. "I fell through the ice, and you pulled me out. Is that what happened?"

Kate didn't say anything.

Weakly, Paul pulled himself to a sitting position, grimacing in pain.

"You shouldn't try to move too much," she cautioned.

Amused, he managed a feeble laugh. "Thanks for your concern." He glanced down at his body, as if checking to make sure it was all still there. He shifted his legs, the damp fabric of his pants clinging to him, then examined the shirt he was wearing. Squinting, he tried to read the writing. "You went to the University of Tennessee?"

Kate didn't answer, but he kept watching her, waiting. "No," she finally said in a cold voice. "It's his." She glanced toward Sawyer. "But he didn't go there either," she added. Then she wondered why she'd volunteered that information. What the hell was she doing, making small talk with the guy?

Paul turned his neck with an effort and looked at Sawyer sleeping over near the farthest fire. "Ah," he said. "_Joel_, right?" He smiled a little, letting her know that he wasn't fooled by the alias. As if she still had any doubts.

Circling warily around the fire pit, she stopped in front of him, and then lowered herself to the ground, not taking her eyes off him for a second.

"So why'd you do it?" he finally said, after a moment of silence had elapsed.

Kate considered ignoring him, but there didn't seem to be any purpose in it. "I've been asking myself the same question. Haven't come up with anything yet. I'll let you know if I do."

He nodded, as if he actually understood. Thinking, he seemed to recall something he'd been wanting to mention. "That was a nice trick, with the canoe. Sinking it like that. You come up with that on your own?"

His transition was so abrupt that at first she couldn't figure out what he was referring to. The last few weeks were such a jumbled haze in her mind that she hadn't yet made any effort to sort out and analyze the separate events. "Not exactly," she said, remembering Sawyer's spur-of-the-moment idea to leave a false trail and feeling proud of him.

Paul didn't say anything else. She couldn't quite read his expression, but she was surprised and a little unnerved by the change in him since she'd interacted with him last, at the cabin in Ontario. Was this the same man? All the malice was gone; the threatening edge to the pseudo-friendliness he'd shown wasn't anywhere in evidence now. Had it all been an act? Now he just seemed bitter, confused, and somehow disappointed. It made no sense to her. He couldn't be afraid for his life, since she'd already had the chance to let him die. Shouldn't he be celebrating his triumph, satisfied that he finally had her where he wanted her?

She decided to begin her own line of questioning, since his seemed to have petered out. She hated to engage him in conversation, but her curiosity was strong. Plus, it was easier to talk to him one-on-one while Sawyer wasn't awake and being a smart-ass.

"How did you know we were coming here? I know you haven't been following us the whole time."

He looked like he wanted to dispute this point, but then decided it wasn't worth it. "Overheard you talking about it, that day out in the snow. You were, uh..." He seemed to find this funny. "You were riding on his back. Remember?"

Kate thought back to that portion of the journey. It must have been right before he introduced himself, when they'd thought they were alone. She'd felt so safe, out there. So much for the isolation of the woods.

Paul continued. "Caught up with you in British Columbia, after I finally figured out what you'd done to the canoe. Found you running across the road in the middle of the night, in your pajamas." He gave her a strange look. "You do that a lot?"

Kate closed her eyes, mentally kicking herself for going to look for Sawyer at the bar that night. Paul probably would have found them anyway, if he was already that close, but she'd certainly made it easier for him, hadn't she?

"So, who was the old lady? Friend of yours?" He didn't seem malicious. It was a simple question.

Even so, she gave him a look filled with hate. Swallowing hard, she wondered if she could speak about Meg without getting emotional. She didn't want him to see how much pain the subject caused her. "She was his aunt," she said, her voice tight with carefully controlled anger. "She was trying to help us get somewhere safe. But she didn't have anything to do with this. With _me_. She just got caught in the middle of it."

"I know it probably doesn't make any difference to you," he said quietly, "but I didn't want anybody to get hurt. That's why I tried to get you to pull over, so we could talk." He lowered his voice, seeming embarrassed. "I'd already lost my nerve a few times... figured I should go for it before it happened again."

She was a bit confused by the reference to him losing his nerve, but she let it pass. "You _shot out the tires_," she said. "How could you think that nobody would get hurt?"

"Hey, if you recall, your friend over there was the one who pulled the gun on _me_. I was just defending myself."

Kate gave a silent, bitter laugh. "Yeah... He doesn't _negotiate _well."

"So I've noticed," Paul agreed, lifting his eyebrows. He looked into the fire, choosing his next words carefully, it seemed. "If it makes you feel any better, the paramedics got there right after I took off after you. I heard the helicopter. I don't think there's any chance in hell they could have saved her, but at least they would have given her something for the pain."

She stared at him, her face registering her effort to understand. "You called for _help_?" she asked, not daring to believe it.

He turned back to her, giving her a short nod. "Not that she appreciated it. In fact, if I remember correctly, she said that if her legs weren't underneath a motor home, she would have already broken her foot off in my ass."

Kate laughed again, genuinely this time, but through sudden tears that sprang to her eyes unbidden. Overcome by a mixture of sadness and profound relief, she bit her lip, trying to hold herself together. So Meg hadn't been out there alone all night, after all. She hadn't had to lie there, by herself, waiting for death to take its time getting to her. Taking a shaky breath, Kate looked straight at Paul. "Thank you," she whispered. It didn't seem possible to hate somebody and be grateful to them all at once, but maybe it was.

"Yeah," he muttered, and then let his gaze wander around the campsite, as if giving her a chance to compose herself. After a minute, he said, "I don't suppose there's anything to drink around this place, is there?"

Brushing her hand across her cheek to get rid of the last traces of tears, she replied in an ironic tone. "Sorry. We haven't been shopping lately."

Paul appreciated the humor, though he was clearly disappointed. "Makes sense."

Kate sighed, reconsidering. Sawyer would be beyond pissed if he knew what she was thinking, but in some ridiculous way, she felt like she owed the guy something for telling her about Meg. He didn't have to do that.

"Hold on a second."

She crossed over to the third fire, which still burned brightly. Crouching down next to Sawyer, she felt around in the half of the coat he'd tossed aside earlier. He still slept like the dead, which surprised her. Usually he tossed and turned for hours in a new place. The stress and fatigue of the trip must have finally caught up with him.

She found the flask in the inner pocket and carefully pulled it out, then covered him with the coat again, letting her hand linger on his arm for a few seconds longer than necessary before she stood up and went back to Paul. She held the flask of whiskey out to him. "There's not much left. But do me a favor and don't tell him I gave it to you."

He smiled a little. "Gotcha." He uncapped it and made a face as he took a sip, then held it back toward her, offering it.

"No thanks," she said, sitting back down.

He continued to extend his arm. "Might as well. Don't you know it's rude to let guests drink alone?"

She could have disputed his notion of himself as a _guest_, but she decided to just cut to the chase. "I'm pregnant," she told him. The words sounded strange to her ears, and she realized that it was the first time she'd actually said them out loud. Incongruously, she felt a slight blush warming her cheeks. She was glad Sawyer wasn't a witness of it.

Paul slowly drew his arm back toward him, his face registering true, genuine surprise. But there was also something else there that could only be described as _regret_. "No kidding," he finally said, with the stunned air of a man who'd gotten himself into something he no longer wanted anything to do with. He glanced at her midsection, then quickly away. "You don't look it."

"Only ten weeks," she explained.

He didn't meet her eyes. "Call me crazy, but... this seems like an odd time to decide to start a family."

"Yeah, well, _deciding _didn't really have much to do with it."

"I see." He nodded slowly. Indicating Sawyer, he asked, "Is it his?"

Kate narrowed her eyes at him in contempt. "Yes, it's _his_. What do you think?"

"Sorry. But then again, I don't know you that well, do I?"

She thought back to the things he'd said to her the last time they'd met, all the random threads of her life that he'd plucked at, trying to get her to unravel, to reveal herself to him. "You expect me to believe that? Because from where I'm standing, it seems like you know _quite a bit_ about me, actually." She paused, then spoke more quietly. "You know who Tom was. Back in Ontario, you said that your last name was Brennon. Was that the truth?"

He stared at her with a hint of admiration. "No. It wasn't. I guess maybe I just wanted to see how you would react to it." He took another drink, contemplating his next words. "I've been looking for you for a long time, you know."

Kate laughed, bitterly. "Join the club."

"Is there a club?" he asked slowly.

She ignored the question. "So it looks like you've gone to a lot of trouble for this... Doing all that research, tracking me out here to the middle of nowhere, risking your life..." She stopped. "Just out of curiosity, what am I worth these days? Back in Australia, it was twenty-three thousand. But I imagine the price has gone up since then. _Inflation_, and all," she said sarcastically.

Paul looked at her strangely, almost as if he felt sorry for her. "I wouldn't know. I'm not really in it for the money."

The admission caught her off guard. Stunned, she tried to make sense of it, to fit it into some kind of framework in her mind.

He saw her confusion, and guessed at the source. "You probably thought I was a bounty hunter, or something like that, right?" He smiled a little. "I figured."

Kate couldn't think of how to respond. A hundred possibilities competed in her mind, but she finally settled on the most simple and direct. "Then what the hell do you want from me? _Who are you_?"

Paul took another drink, and then turned the flask upside down, as if to prove to himself that it was gone. Regretfully, he laid it aside. Then he looked up at her again. When he began to speak, it was hesitant, reluctant, like he was piecing the sentences together for the first time, gathering them from a great distance as he searched his memory.

"When I was a kid, I used to... I used to bug my mom all the time, trying to get her to tell me stories about my dad... about what he was like. Things he used to say, things we used to do together before he left. That kind of stuff. He took off when I was four, so... I didn't really have any memories of my own. Except this _one_. I had this one memory of him spraying me with the hose, outside the house one summer. It was like this game, you know? I'd try to run away, and he'd just keep following me with the hose. I thought it was the best thing ever." He smiled to himself, apparently picturing it again. "And that's it, really. That's the only thing I remember. My mom didn't like to talk about him. She always said we were better off without him, that he had a new family somewhere else, and we needed to just forget about him and move on. Good advice, maybe. But I was only a kid, and everybody else had a dad. I guess I just wanted one, too." He looked at Kate, as if he expected some kind of response.

Shaking her head with confusion, she said quietly, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you asked who I am. If you don't want to hear it, then..."

"No," she interrupted, apologetic. "I do. Go on."

"So, anyway," he said, resuming his narrative. "I never could get her to tell me where he went. After awhile, I just gave up on it. Figured it was no use. I graduated high school and went off to college in New York... didn't even think about him for a long time. I got my Masters in architecture... That part was true, by the way," he said as an aside. "I really am an architect. I moved back to Michigan, joined a firm in Lansing. Made some good money. Nothing huge, but more than I needed. So after a few years, I started thinking about my dad again. I'd been dating this girl, and we'd talked about getting married... which we eventually realized was a terrible idea. But while I thought it was still a possibility, that was when I started wondering about him again. I wondered if he ever thought about me at all, if I ever even crossed his mind. And since I had the money, I decided to track him down. Why the hell not? All he could do was say he didn't want to see me, right? At least I'd get some answers about where he'd been all those years, why he'd left in the first place. And my mom had always said he'd had other kids, so I guess maybe I wanted to meet them, too. Only-child syndrome," he explained, wistfully.

Kate barely nodded, understanding that part, at least.

"The detective that I hired found him within three days. For some reason, I'd always thought it'd be harder than that. I don't know why. It wasn't like he was hiding or anything. So the guy gives me the town, the address, a picture of him... everything I need to know. He even tells me where I could find him on a Friday night, if I wanted to approach him in a neutral location, away from the house. That's what the detective called it... a _neutral location_. Turns out it was a bar." He stopped, as if distracted by an image in his mind. A log shifted on the fire, sending up a shower of sparks.

Kate didn't even turn her head toward it. "What happened?" she pressed, interested in spite of herself.

He looked at her like he'd forgotten she was there. "I went there. To the bar. Sat in a corner and watched him for awhile. He was, I don't know... Your basic redneck at a bar, I guess. About what I'd expected. He played a few games of pool, groped the waitress a little. Almost got into a fight with some other guys, but someone broke it up. After a few hours, the place kinda cleared out. Then he was just sort of sitting at the bar, by himself. This blank look on his face, like he couldn't even remember who he was. And I knew that was my chance. It was what I'd been waiting for. But I just... kept sitting there. I sat there until he finally grabbed his jacket and left. Walked right past me, too. And I never said a word." He stared into the fire, angry at himself.

Still listening with an air of cautious sympathy, Kate waited to hear what came next. She had no idea what any of this had to do with her, but it had a vaguely familiar ring that troubled her. She glanced over at Sawyer again, but he hadn't moved.

Paul forced himself to continue. "I decided to come back the next night. I told myself I'd do it differently tomorrow... that I'd get to him right when he came in, instead of wasting all that time. So I got a hotel room nearby, called Julie to tell her I'd be gone another day. The next morning, I flipped on the news while I was ordering room service. Almost dropped the phone, actually, because... and here's the weird part, Kate," he said, finally looking at her again. "I could have sworn I heard his _name_. The guy I'd come there to find... it sounded like they were talking about him on the news. I thought maybe I was just crazy, so I put the volume up. But it turns out I was right the first time. And you want to know _why _this guy was on the news? Because for some reason, after he got home from the bar that night..." Here he paused, finishing in a tone just barely audible. "_Someone blew up his house_."

The horror that had been dawning in Kate's expression for the past few seconds was now complete. She felt a threatening dizziness, and she couldn't quite catch her breath, though she hadn't moved at all. Paul kept watching her, more out of simple interest than active malevolence.

With the full implications sinking in, or more precisely, slamming into her consciousness with the force of a meteor, she shut her eyes tightly, causing tears to overflow down her cheeks. She forced herself to concentrate on breathing in and out, regulating her heartbeat by sheer willpower. After what seemed like an interminable silence, she whispered, "Wayne was your father." She said it like a statement, not a question.

Paul seemed drained now, as if his tale had physically exhausted him. He gave her a slight nod of confirmation. "There's a little more to it, but you seem like a smart girl. I'm sure you can connect the dots on your own. Long story short, by the next day, they knew it hadn't been an accident. And they even had themselves a suspect - the guy's own daughter. That was the first time I saw you. They showed your picture on TV."

Kate covered her face with her hands now, her features threatening to dissolve. "Stop," she begged him. "I don't want to hear any more."

He waited, respectfully, it seemed. She was able to get herself under control within a minute or so, and sniffling, she brushed her sleeve across her face and raised her head to look at him again. They regarded each other in wary silence. Kate made a visible effort to hide her emotions, trying to call on the tough, resilient part of herself that she'd honed for dealing with situations like this. She took a fortifying breath and then let it out again. Her voice was low and purposeful. "What exactly is it that you want from me? _Revenge_? For screwing up your little reunion?" She couldn't quite hide the contempt she felt. "Because you shouldn't kid yourself. If you'd met him... if you'd actually talked to him? You would have been disappointed." She said the word _disappointed _like it wasn't even remotely strong enough for what she wanted to convey.

"You think so, huh? So, what... you did me a _favor_? Is that what you're saying?"

Kate looked away, knowing that wasn't what she'd meant but not knowing how to explain it without saying a thousand things she couldn't possibly say to someone she barely knew. It had taken weeks before she'd even been able to talk about them with Sawyer, and she'd felt close to him right from the beginning. "You didn't answer my question," she said. "About what it is you want."

He thought for a second. "Maybe because there isn't really an answer. Yeah, I guess after it first happened, I had these big plans about how I'd turn you in, get all the credit for it... Make some big gesture that would be like... like it was for him, since he couldn't do it himself." He gave her a sharp look. "I wasn't ever planning to _kill _you, if that's what you're thinking."

It _was _what she'd been thinking, but maybe it was just another instance of projecting the ever-present darkness that she sensed within herself into places where it didn't actually exist.

"Then everybody thought you died in that plane crash, and I guess I just thought, _Well, there's another missed opportunity_. When it turned out you were alive, I decided to give it another shot. Except..." He paused, looking like he found this part funny. "When I finally did catch up with you, you weren't exactly what I was expecting."

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know. Maybe somebody a little more... homicidal? I thought you'd seem more like a murderer. And I kept trying to draw you out.. bringing up all these things that I thought would make you snap... show your teeth. But it never happened. All I could see was this scared, confused _girl _who had this hunted-rabbit look on her face all the time."

Although it was probably the most ridiculous reaction she'd ever had in her life, she felt a small measure of gratitude that he couldn't see her as a murderer. She'd gotten so accustomed to people viewing her that way that it was almost like traveling back in time to hear herself described in such a relatively simple, albeit mildly sexist, manner.

"Then if I was such a _let-down_, why did you follow me all the way up here?"

"Because I was tired of missing my chance. Because I wanted to tell you... who I was. Who _he _was. I just wanted you to know. And yeah, I guess I still planned on turning you in. But you pulled me out of a damned frozen lake, which sort of puts a kink in the program. So I figure maybe we should just call it even, _sis_," he said sarcastically. "What do you think?"

She felt tears threaten again in the immensity of her relief, but she held them back. She paused. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "For what I did. _I'm sorry_." It was the first time she'd ever said it. It was the first time she'd ever _felt _it.

He watched her, intrigued. "If you had the chance, would you bring him back?"

Kate shook her head, warningly. "Don't ask me that."

"Just tell me the truth. Would you?" He waited for her answer with fascination.

She waited a few seconds before responding. Her face was a mask of pain, but she answered honestly. "No. I wouldn't." She paused. "I wouldn't do it over again. But I wouldn't bring him back, either."

Paul absorbed this, letting the meaning sink in slowly, perhaps understanding for the first time the true nature of the man he'd been spared from knowing. "Then I guess maybe it's a good thing he left when he did," he said, in a strained effort at a casual tone. "Otherwise it might have been me who did it instead of you."

"Maybe," Kate whispered, after a pause. She doubted it, but maybe. After all, they apparently shared the same blood, the blood she'd been so convinced was a poison, a curse. But he wasn't cursed. He didn't even seem to be a bad person. What did that mean for her? She couldn't possibly process it right now. Her head spun from the effort.

For a long time, neither one of them said anything. All three fires were getting low, and Kate needed to put wood on them. She knew she was also supposed to wake Sawyer up, since it been more than an hour since their agreement. But she didn't move yet.

"What are you looking for up here?" Paul finally asked. "In the Yukon?"

She thought about it, then shrugged slightly. "Just a place to live. Somewhere safe."

He seemed strangely worried by this answer, like he thought it was too idealistic. "The FBI's most likely got a list of his living relatives. Once they get wind of that woman's death way up here, they could get suspicious. Wherever you're going, you better get there fast."

"We're trying," she said in a simple voice, barely above a whisper.

He nodded slightly, then rubbed his hands over his face in a supreme effort to fight exhaustion. "I feel like I just ran a marathon," he muttered. "Hate to spoil the party, but..."

"You should sleep," Kate said, standing up. "It's late. And I need to bank the fires anyway."

She started to move off, uncertain of what she should say to him, or how she should even _think _of him. It was all too much. It would take so much time to sort everything out. Time, and strength, and energy that she didn't have right now.

"Hey. Kate," he said, stopping her.

She looked back over at him, questioning.

He stared at the ground, almost shyly, then back up at her. "We have the same nose."

With a meager, tentative smile, she said in a soft voice. "I noticed."

He smiled back, a little awkwardly. "Goodnight." Stretching out on his back, he turned toward the fire.

"Night," she repeated.

As if moving through a fog, she forced herself to distribute the remaining wood between the three fires, then she approached Sawyer. Instead of waking him up, though, she lifted the edge of the coat and lay down beside him, pressing herself up against his body, breathing in the warm, familiar, comforting smell of him. Without even waking up, he threw one arm over her, as if by blind instinct. She closed her eyes to the terrifying sensation of spinning out of control, but she concentrated on the sound of his heartbeat, using it as an anchor to steady herself by. The quiet, rhythmic thumping was the last thing she was aware of that night.

* * *

"Hey! Wake up. Goddamn it, Freckles, _get up_!" 

Sawyer shook her again, pissed and desperately worried at the same time. She sat up and squinted at him, holding her temples like she had a headache. "_What_?" she demanded.

"I thought I told you to wake me up after an hour! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I can explain..."

"Oh, you think so, huh?" he said, frantically gesturing around the campsite. "You wanna explain the fact that he's _gone, _Clouseau?"

Kate looked where he indicated. The two of them were alone. Paul's clothes had been taken from the tree they hung on, and Kate's borrowed sweatshirt was neatly folded and draped in their place. All three fires had gone out, though one still smoldered faintly.

"_Shit_," Sawyer said in a savage tone, yanking the coat from underneath her and pulling it on. She saw that he already had the gun. He grabbed the shirt from the branch and tossed it at her, hurrying her along. "You want to pick up the pace, sweetheart? We're gonna have to go after him again."

"Sawyer, wait," she said, pulling herself to her feet.

"What the hell do you mean, _wait_?" He looked at her like she was crazy. "Son-of-a-bitch escaped from right under our noses... He can't be that far yet. What do you want to do, say the Pledge of Allegiance before we go?"

"We don't need to go after him." She said it without raising her voice.

Sawyer halted now, wondering if she'd gone completely off the deep end. He was so stunned that he couldn't even think of a smart-ass reply.

"He's not who we thought he was. He won't turn us in."

With a tone of slowly growing disbelief, Sawyer came toward her. "Damn, Freckles, I know you got this bad habit of rootin' for the underdog, but I didn't know you were _gullible _into the bargain! What the hell did he manage to convince you of while I was asleep last night? That he was with the census bureau?" he sneered. "Or maybe he just wanted to give us some pamphlets about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints!"

"I'm not gullible. And you _know _I'm not!" she said sharply, getting angry. "Look... I know it doesn't make any sense right now, but you have to trust me on this. _Please_, Sawyer. You think I would put us in any danger if I really thought he was a threat?"

He felt himself wavering, letting himself be convinced. He could tell by the look on her face that she believed fully the truth of what she said. If they were talking about any other issue, then maybe he would have needed more proof. But who knew more about trust than Kate? If there was anything she understood, intuitively, in the core of her being, it was who she could trust and who she couldn't. And if she said the guy was safe, then he had to believe her. It was like salt rubbed into a wound for his ego, but he believed her.

Scowling, he slowly relaxed his stance, still watching her. "This better be a damn good story."

She sighed. "I'll tell you everything that he said, but please don't ask me to do it right now. We need to keep moving. Just because _he _isn't after us, doesn't mean we're out of danger."

Sawyer looked away, wearily, his curiosity killing him. He wouldn't press her, though. She would tell him when she felt like it was the right time. It was frustrating as hell, but it would have to be good enough.

As he scanned the area, something over near the water caught his attention. He took off toward it, curious. When he got closer, he saw that it was a string of fish, caught and laid out there, presumably for them. He held it up and showed Kate.

"Looks like your new best friend left us breakfast," he said, somehow annoyed by the gesture. _He _should have been the one to catch the damn fish. Who the hell did this guy think he was? And what was he doing, leaving gifts for her? What exactly had _happened _last night while he was sleeping? Even the thought of her innocently flirting with someone else put him in a bad mood. Sawyer tried to think of any situations in which he would leave a gift for a woman where something sexual wasn't involved. There weren't any.

She came closer, examining the fish. There was a strange, wistful look on her face. She blew on her hands and rubbed them together, her breath puffing out white in the freezing early morning air. She glanced up at Sawyer. "If you get those ready to eat, I'll build one of the fires back up. We need to hurry."

"Aye aye, captain," he muttered under his breath, already thinking that this was going to be a shitty day. "Guess it would have been too much for the douchebag to leave us coffee." Turning toward the fish, he checked his coat before locating the pocket knife in his jeans. Kate had already started back toward the center of the campsite, but then he felt her returning.

"Sawyer."

He'd only turned halfway toward her when she caught him a powerful, unexpected kiss. Because he still held the fish in one hand and the knife in the other, he didn't even have a chance to pull her closer. His mouth and the sides of his face, which she kept her hands on, were the only parts that came into contact with her. But damn, was it enough. He'd closed his eyes by the time she'd slowly, sensuously released his bottom lip and leaned back to look up at him.

"What was _that _for?" he asked in a husky voice.

There was a hard-edged, glittering excitement in her eyes that he didn't know if he'd ever seen before. She looked exhilarated, and he couldn't put his finger on exactly why it made him nervous.

"We're almost there," she breathed.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say _We ain't there yet _in his usual sarcastic tone of voice, but he couldn't do it. For whatever reason, he couldn't say those words to her when she looked like that.

He attempted to smile at her, wondering if he was getting paranoid in his old age. What was wrong with a little optimism? "I sure hope this place we're goin' has a comfortable bed, sassafras. Because I ain't lettin' you out of it for a month."

She smiled back, on the verge of blushing, and went to gather wood. He watched her for a second, then started to slice into the fish, taking a certain pleasure in hacking the heads off the little bastards.


	29. Chapter 29

Posting on the run here, so please forgive me if I'm neglecting any questions. I'll check again before I post in a few days - I was originally going to post Chapters 29 and 30 together, but on second thought, I thought I'd give 29 a little breathing room, since 30 is a bit more intense. As always, thanks so much for taking the time to review... it's the reason I'm still doing this, one year later!

* * *

**Chapter 29**

She always walked like she knew exactly where she was going. It was one thing he'd noticed, up here on this godforsaken trek. He'd had time to notice quite a few things, actually, like the fact that he wasn't even close to being in the physical shape he'd thought he was in. But it was the way Kate walked that struck him as the most interesting tidbit he'd gained in the past couple of days. He tried to stay a few steps behind her, because watching her was one of the only pleasures that could be squeezed out of this whole miserable experience.

It was something about the way she kept her back and neck straight, head erect and eyes always forward, that created the illusion of driven purpose. She maintained a steady pace, too, not letting obstacles like rotten logs or rock piles slow her down much at all. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that she was just dashing down the street to drop off a letter at the post office. She walked like she knew her destination was just within reach, just over the next hill, maybe, or around the next bend of the river. The sad irony, of course, was that neither one of them really knew where the hell they were going, or how far they still had to travel. They had a general idea, but out here, a general idea might not be good enough.

Then again, he thought, maybe she _did _know where she was going. He still had no clue what the hell had gone on last night, or what new information she might have learned from Paul. It drove him crazy, but he was determined not to sink so low as to keep badgering her with questions. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction. It was a well-known fact to him by now that she didn't like to talk about anything important while they were on the move, so he assumed she would only tell her story when they came to rest somewhere for the night. Until then, he would do his best to pretend that he couldn't care less about her little conspiratorial gossip-fest with the guy who'd nearly killed them both. Or the fact that she hadn't woken him up like she'd said she would. Or the fact that the bastard had left her _fish_. _Damn him._

Abruptly, he decided to stop for a break. They still followed the course of the river, so he turned to the left and, scowling, maneuvered down the short incline to the water. Kate kept walking, not yet aware of his absence. He ducked his head to drink, and then watched her with interest, wondering how long it would take before she realized she was alone. She continued up a slight incline, nearly out of sight. Just when he was starting to get irritated with her for being so oblivious, she slowed and cast a look back over her shoulder. Noticing he was gone, she came to a full stop and turned around, scanning the area in confusion which quickly turned to worry. "Sawyer?" she called, her voice sounding small and ineffectual out here. Even from a distance, he could see the way her eyes darted around, the way she plucked nervously at the bottom of her coat.

Although this was kind of fun, he couldn't keep it up. She looked genuinely scared. Standing, he showed her where he was. Relief quickly flooded her features, but she hid it just as fast, assuming a stance of casual amusement as if she hadn't been bothered at all. She strolled back toward him, smiling.

"You tryin' to lose me?" she asked playfully.

"I'm givin' it my all," he said. "Hasn't worked yet, though, has it?"

Still smiling, she accepted the hand he extended to help her down the bank. She kneeled at the river, bringing the water to her lips in an almost delicate manner. When she'd had enough, she dried her hands briskly on her jeans and sat down on a boulder a few feet across from him.

Sawyer angled his chin toward the sky, which had become dark and ominous over the course of the day. "What do you think?" he asked her.

She glanced up, then nodded, seeming troubled. "Looks like snow. Within a few hours, maybe."

They didn't say anything for a second, both understanding the serious nature of their predicament without needing to go into detail. Kate picked up a stick and idly scratched in the dirt with it. Without seeming to pay any attention to what she was doing, she created a ragged tic tac toe board and drew an X in the center, then held the stick out to Sawyer. He took it from her and examined his options.

"From what I can tell from those coordinates Meg gave us," Kate said, "the ranger's station should be right on the river. We've been heading due North the entire time. We have to be getting close."

Handing the stick back to her, he waited for her to say whatever she'd left unspoken. It was clear there was still something on her mind.

"But?" he urged her.

She sighed, scratching out a second X. "But now I'm not so sure it's the best idea to stop there."

"Then how the hell else are we gonna find this place? She said the only way to get there is by helicopter. We gotta get in touch with the guy somehow. Unless you figured out a way to make your own CB radio outta the underwire from your bra..."

"My bra doesn't have an underwire," she said with a wry smile. "And you know it doesn't."

"Well, then, there ya go," he said, as if that settled it. "Looks like we don't have any choice." He took the stick back from her and scratched out another O in the dirt after what appeared to be a long inner debate with himself.

Kate still didn't seem convinced. "It's such a risk to be seen by anybody right now, even forest rangers. I'm sure Meg's already been identified, and if they comb through the wreckage..." She paused, shaking her head a little as if angry at herself. "There are _pictures _of us in there, Sawyer. How could we have been so stupid?"

"We didn't encourage her damn photo shoots."

"No, but we didn't stop her either." Kate looked up at the sky again, and then seemed to come to some sort of decision. "I guess it doesn't matter, though, does it? Whether they're already on the lookout for us or not, we'll die if we stay outside tonight. There's no way around it. We _have _to get to shelter."

Sawyer handed the stick back, saying in a pointed tone, "If we don't want to be seen, we don't have to be seen."

She understood his meaning. "I know. But if it comes to that, _I'll _do it. I know how to make sure there won't be any permanent damage. They'll just wake up with a headache, won't even remember what happened. Okay?"

He thought about asking what made her so sure that _he _didn't know how to knock somebody out safely, but the truth was that he didn't, not really. Of course, if it came down to the wire, he wasn't concerned about the welfare of any damn forest rangers. He was concerned about _her_. But he decided to make a show of conceding the point, at least for the time being. "Sounds like a plan."

She accepted this with a grateful look, then stared down at the markings in the dirt. Carefully, she made a final X and drew a line through the row, signifying her win.

"_Son-of-a..._," Sawyer swore under his breath.

Trying to hold back her laughter, Kate stood and pulled him to his feet. "Come on," she said, a note of triumph in her voice. "We can't waste any more time."

As she dragged him away, he angled his head back to cast a parting glance at the ground, accusingly.

"Did you _cheat_?"

* * *

Over the next hour, the temperature dropped steadily. It wasn't as if it had been warm to begin with, but it had at least been tolerable, as long as they kept moving. Now, it was becoming something else. Instead of a dry cold, the air was heavy with a damp, bone-chilling cold. They could feel the gathering moisture in the air, and they knew it wouldn't be much longer before the first flakes started to fall. Depending on how hard it snowed, they could be in serious danger before long.

To make matters worse, they were soon confronted with a more pressing problem. The river that they followed branched into two separate streams of equal size which forked off in diverging directions, creating a Y shape. It wasn't clear whether one was the source river and one the tributary, or whether the two halves converged again further upstream. They were identical.

Kate and Sawyer stood near the bank of the easterly branch, staring down into the swirling foam.

"Which one is it?" Sawyer asked, raising his voice over the sound of the rushing water.

Consulting the compass and the scrap of paper Meg had given her, Kate finally shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted with a tone of defeat. "But it can't be much farther. If we could just..."

"We ain't gonna split up, if that's what you're thinking," he interrupted her. "You ever heard of a case where that turned out well for anybody? I'm not lettin' you outta my sight."

"I wasn't gonna suggest that," she said, defending herself. Turning away from the water, she walked back toward the quiet of the woods, thoughtfully.

Sawyer followed, watching as she stared up at the sky as if searching for something. He waited a few seconds, but when she kept this up, he finally asked sarcastically, "Are you _praying_?"

Now she lowered her gaze and looked at him like he was an idiot. Turning her head again, she gestured and said, "See that tree over there? I bet I could climb it."

He stared at her like she was crazy. "Well, good for you, Freckles. I can belch the damn alphabet. We all got talents. Now, you want to try to focus, here?"

She closed her eyes, appearing thoroughly exasperated with him. "I mean I can climb it _now_. I should be able to spot the place, if I can get up high enough. It'll save us the trouble of having to guess."

"Forget it," he said quickly, moving into total opposition mode now that he understood what she was suggesting.

"Why?" she demanded.

"What do you mean, _why_? You passed out just walkin' up a _hill _yesterday! Or did you forget all about that during your wild pajama party last night?"

"I passed out because we'd barely eaten in two days," she said, ignoring the last part of his remark. "But we had breakfast this morning. I'm _fine_."

"And how do you know it was because you hadn't eaten? Maybe you got some rare pregnant-lady disease that you don't even know about!"

Kate rubbed her eyes briefly with her hand, a motion that he knew meant she was at the end of her rope. "Sawyer, we don't have time to argue about this. It'll be dark soon. We _need _to know where we're going."

"And what if you get dizzy while you're up there? What then?"

"I won't," she said, already dropping her backpack to the ground and pulling her coat off. She started to turn, but he grasped her arm in a last-ditch effort.

"Wait. Let me do it."

She stared at him incredulously. "_You're _gonna climb up there?" Biting her tongue a little, as if she was suppressing laughter, she said, "Okay, fine. Go ahead." She crossed her arms and waited.

Surprised at how quickly she'd given in, Sawyer moved toward the tree she'd indicated, then stopped when he got close. He stared at it in stupefaction. The lowest branch was a good two feet above his head. How the _hell _had she planned to get up there? Now he could feel her eyes on his back, and how much she must be enjoying this.

"You want me to give you a boost?" she asked dryly.

He turned and glared at her, then looked at the tree again. After a few seconds, he sighed heavily. "Just... _be careful_, all right?" He sounded defeated and very pissed.

She walked toward him, abandoning her joking attitude. "I will. I promise." She reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and then, before he even had a chance to say anything else, she'd backed up and taken a flying leap at the branch. Her hands caught it, then she hooked one leg over the side and used the leverage to pull herself up onto the top, till she straddled it like a horse. "The rest is easy," she panted.

Sawyer was more than a little impressed. How had she learned how to do that? He wondered if she'd ever been in gymnastics. He wondered what she'd look like in a leotard. Shaking off these distracting thoughts, he tried to concentrate on her progress.

She was right, the rest of the climbing didn't seem to be nearly as difficult. She simply maneuvered from one branch to the next, most of which grew so close together that she only needed to step up while keeping her balance using the main trunk. Still, though, it made his palms sweaty to watch her. He tried to stay directly underneath her at all times, even though if she fell on him from that height it would likely kill them both. But he had to at least make the effort.

"All right, that's high enough!" he yelled at one point.

"I can't see anything from here!" she called back as she continued to climb, sounding like she was reasoning with a child.

Finally, when he was pretty sure he might be on the verge of a heart attack, she stopped. From this distance, all he could really make out was the soft green of her shirt. Nothing more.

"Well? You see anything?" he hollered through cupped hands.

"You can't even imagine the view from here... It's beautiful!" She sounded dazed.

Sawyer had a sudden sense of deja vu, as if they'd already done this before. Was it the time she'd climbed onto the roof in Tennessee? No, he didn't think that was it. It was something else. What, though? Had he _dreamed _about her climbing something? He couldn't quite remember the details. But the sensation of being left behind while she moved beyond him, out of reach, was eerily familiar.

Pushing away the disturbing notion, he called up to her in a no-nonsense voice, "We can sightsee later, Freckles! Is the damn place anywhere close, or not?"

"Yeah... yeah, I think I see it! It's not a fire tower... it's..." She paused. "It's down low, like a cabin! It's on the eastern branch!"

"Okay, then, mission accomplished! Get down from there!"

He could see that she wasn't moving. He walked around the tree impatiently, still looking up at her.

"Kate!"

With an air of reluctance, she finally started back down. He watched with nervous apprehension, waiting for her to take a wrong step, but she moved with a gracefulness that made the whole process look much simpler than it really was. When she reached the bottom branch, she carefully lowered herself to where she dangled over the ground. Sawyer grasped her around the waist so that when she let go, her body slid down against his, her shirt riding up and exposing her bare skin. She remained pressed against him, her eyes shining and exhilarated. "That was fun."

He tried to keep in mind that he wasn't happy with this whole scheme, or the risk that she'd just taken. But she wasn't making it easy. "You cut yourself," he said, aware of how ridiculously sulky he sounded.

"Where?" she asked, defying him to prove it.

He held her wrist up, turning it toward her.

She rolled her eyes. "That's a _scrape_. And it's not even bleeding."

"Yeah, well, I seem to remember that the last _scrape _you got required surgery, didn't it? So maybe you ain't quite the medical expert you think you are, pumpkin."

She smiled up at him, tolerant and refusing to let him bother her. "Are you gonna be this neurotic for the next seven months?"

He scoffed unconvincingly, suddenly aware of the warm, inviting glow emanating from her skin. "Are you gonna be this _annoying _for the next seven months?" His voice was low and husky, though, and didn't sound nearly as annoyed as he'd wanted it to.

Her lips were hovering so close to his that even if he'd been blind, he would have been able to sense the electric buzz that bridged the tiny gap between them. After a few seconds of this agonizing hovering, she leaned away a little, looking almost guilty. He still held her hips against him with one arm, and he could feel the shaky breath that she drew in, as if relinquishing something. She looked like she wanted to speak, but was holding back.

"What?" he asked, intrigued.

"Nothing," she said, smiling. Was she blushing, or was it just from exertion? "It's just... Climbing trees sort of makes me..." She stopped, embarrassed, biting her lip.

Sawyer tilted his back a bit, slyly. "Sort of makes you _what_?" He was dying to hear to hear her say the word, although he knew hell would freeze over before she did.

She flushed even darker and forcibly pulled herself out of his grip, tugging down her shirt. "Forget it." She put her coat back on and swung the backpack over her shoulder again, looking as if she regretted the fact that they were so easily distracted by one another. "We have more important things to think about."

He would have liked to argue that point, but he knew it would be no use. And she was probably right, anyway. They didn't know what they would have to deal with when they got to this place, so it would be better to leave themselves a little daylight to work with, just in case. He sighed, gesturing with his arm for Kate to lead the way.

But as he followed her back to the river, he discovered that he had at least gained a healthy, newfound appreciation for tree-climbing.

* * *

After another thirty minutes of walking, they came within sight of the building Kate had seen from her vantage point in the air. It sat up on a hill, near the river, but not directly next to it. Built from mortared logs, it was a low, sprawling structure with natural stone accents. Detached from it, closer to the woods, there was another, smaller building, probably a shed of some kind.

They crouched behind a low rock ledge, scrutinizing the area before they moved any closer. "I feel like we're attacking a fort," Sawyer muttered.

Kate turned her head toward him, eyebrows raised.

"What? Didn't you ever play cowboys and Indians when you were a kid?"

"No," she said, distractedly.

"Let me guess. Cops and robbers?"

"Would you shut up for a second, please?"

They both watched the ranger's station in silence, waiting tensely. There was no sign of life anywhere. The building was dark; no light came from any of the windows, and the two chimneys were smokeless.

"Here comes the snow," Kate said quietly after a few moments of this observing. The flakes dusted down in gentle, swirling patterns at first, but then immediately began to fall heavier and faster, as if getting down to business. With the last murky daylight quickly fading from the sky, it was becoming difficult to judge anything from their position. "Let's move closer," she whispered.

Cautiously, they approached the building. Sawyer had the gun out and ready, just in case, but they did their best to remain unseen. Kate stopped at the shed, peering into the interior. "No vehicles," she said shortly. They continued on toward the main structure. Circling around to the front, they found that the door was locked from the inside, but also reinforced from the outside by a heavy chain and padlock. A faded sign taped on the other side of the glass announced that the Ticonda Ranger Station was open to campers from April through October, and that special rates were available for large groups. It also promised ranger-guided tours of the river and scenic wilderness, and asked that campers call to schedule their stays in advance.

"Guess we forgot to make our reservations," Sawyer remarked.

Kate backed away from the door, thoughtfully, then disappeared around the corner of the building. Sawyer followed. "You want me to try to pick the lock?" he asked.

"I have a better idea," she said, stopping at one of the windows. The snow had already begun to form drifts against the rock sill, and she brushed it off with her sleeve. "Give me the pocket knife."

He dug it out of his coat and passed it to her. "What good is that gonna do?"

She flipped the blade out and began to slide it under the window. "They're not locked... they're painted shut," she said. "Same way yours were."

He leaned against the wall, interested now. "So _that's _how you got in. I thought maybe I'd just left the damn thing open."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't easy," she said as she worked at prying the wooden casing away from the sill that it was stuck to. "I didn't have a knife. I must have tried every window on the first floor... I almost gave up and left, figured it was too risky. You weren't home, and I wasn't even sure if you were _staying _there or not. That downstairs bedroom was my last shot. And, as luck would have it..." As she said this, she used the knife as a lever to wrench the window open an inch, and then, with a sound of splintering wood, she forced it up the rest of the way. "It opened," she finished, smiling at him a little proudly.

And what if it _hadn't_? he wondered. Would she really have given up and gone? He doubted it. But still, it was a possibility. The idea that all that stood between his old life and _this _life, between the time when he hadn't had Kate and the time when he _did_, was an unlocked window that miraculously hadn't been sealed up with paint - it was hard to grasp. If it hadn't opened... if she'd turned around and disappeared back into the rain-drenched September night just seconds before he'd pulled into the driveway and, drunk, made his careful way to the porch, he would have been none the wiser. They might have just missed each other by seconds. The thought made him a little nervous, which was ridiculous, since it hadn't turned out that way at all. It was disturbing, though, to realize how many of the most important things in his life depended on coincidence and blind chance.

The snow was coming down even faster now as the wind picked up and blew it, stinging, into their faces. Kate hoisted herself up onto the window sill and swung one leg over. "Let me go through and make sure there's nobody in there. Wait here," she said, hopping down into the room. "I'll be right back."

He counted to ten and then climbed through the window after her, ignoring her instructions without a shred of guilt. He didn't want her in there alone.

Cautiously, he lowered himself to the floor and closed the window. Without the bitter wind, the instant quiet that enveloped him was profound. Shaking the snow out of his hair, he took a few tentative steps into the dim room. It was small, only about five feet square, and appeared to be some sort of office. There was a desk covered in maps and calendars, and on a nearby table sat a two-way radio and a set of walkie-talkies. He rubbed a finger across the edge of the desk. It was coated in dust, obviously unused for a while. So far, so good.

He continued on into the next room, which seemed to be used for storage. There were cots stacked up against one wall and folding chairs against another. On the floor, centered in front of a small, dark fireplace, was a braided rug. This room, like the other one, was dusty and had an abandoned feel.

Opening off one end was a low, beamed passageway edged in gray rock. He moved through it, glancing up as he came into what was apparently the main area of the lodge. The ceiling here was high and domed, made up of pine rafters, and the room itself was long and rectangular, boasting a giant stone hearth in the center with an imposing buck's head mounted above it. There were other animals, including fish and ducks, preserved and hung at various points along the walls. At the other end of the room was a grizzly bear, standing backed into a corner, forced to maintain his defensive, snarling posture for all eternity. Kate stood in front of it, staring up curiously.

Sawyer approached, not making any noise. "Thinkin' about asking him out?" he asked when he stood just behind her.

She jumped, startled, then turned around looking pissed. He stared at the floor with a mischievous air, trying not to laugh.

"Damn it, Sawyer. I thought I told you to wait outside?"

"Yeah, well... turns out I'm not a very good listener, sweet cheeks. What are you gonna do, _ground _me?"

"You're lucky I didn't _stab _you," she said, showing him the pocket knife she still held. "How could you sneak up on me like that?"

He took the knife from her, just to be on the safe side. "So, what do you think? Place clean?"

"Yeah," she sighed, looking around wearily. "Nobody's here. Looks like it's been empty for months. I think we should be safe, for one night at least."

"It's like a meat locker in here," he said.

"There's no electricity," she explained. "But we can stay in that smaller room, with the rug. It'll be easier to keep warm. I saw some kerosene lanterns and flashlights in there too."

"Be kinda nice to have the place to ourselves, won't it?" he said suggestively, drawing her toward him by the wrists. Without waiting for any kind of response, he kissed her. Even through her coat, he could feel how tense she was. After a few seconds, she yielded to it, allowing herself to relax into him a little. When they drew apart, they balanced their foreheads against each other. "Feels like somebody needs a back rub," he whispered, trying to entice her.

She smiled in anticipation, not opening her eyes. "Later. First we need to get a fire going and look around for something to eat."

He let his breath out slowly in exaggerated renunciation. "Seems like you just _enjoy _makin' me wait." He wondered if she was aware of the fact that they hadn't had sex _at all _yesterday. If not, he was aware enough of it for the both of them.

"We have plenty of time," she said softly.

He hoped to God those words were true, but he was so terrified that they weren't. He kissed her again, pulling away before they reached the point of no return. Then both turned their heads and looked at the mounted grizzly, which, disturbingly, appeared to be staring at them.

"I think maybe he's jealous," Sawyer said, sounding creeped out.

Laughing, Kate took off her coat and threw it up and over the bear's head. They weren't in the mood for any company tonight - not even the dead, stuffed kind.

* * *

Though it wasn't easy to bring in enough wood for a fire using only the small office window that they'd managed to pry open, it was eventually accomplished. "I swear to God, if we ever get to this place, I never want to see another fire for the rest of my life," Sawyer grumbled. Kate employed her patented method of blocking out the sound of his voice, and they finally had enough wood stockpiled to last through the night. They were both nearly frozen by this point, fingers numb and feet soaking wet from the snow. After getting the fire started, they put their shoes and socks on the hearth to dry and wandered around the lodge in bare feet.

Kate brought one of the kerosene lamps into the smaller room and set to work pouring the oil and trimming the wick. While she did this, Sawyer entertained her with an account that had been passed down to him of one of his ancestors in Tennessee, who, while trying to light a kerosene lamp during a freak thunderstorm one day, had caused a small explosion and burned to a crisp in front of her five children. He seemed to enjoy this story immensely, but Kate was less than amused.

She set the lamp on a table, and then they grabbed some flashlights and went to work searching for food. "What makes you think there's gonna be anything to eat around this place?" he asked, wondering if she was being delusionally hopeful.

"They have to keep something for emergencies," she reasoned.

"Emergencies like... getting trapped in a snowstorm, for instance?"

"Like that," she agreed, shining the flashlight in an arc around the office, searching for cupboards or shelves. He could see the subdued gleam of pleasure in her eyes as she opened a file cabinet and rifled through the contents. Nothing gave her more satisfaction than prowling around like this in a new place, poking her nose into things that didn't belong to her. The girl was a born snoop. It had annoyed the hell out of him back on his own turf, when it was _his _property she was always digging through. But now, he found the quality strangely endearing. And it was at least a connecting thread between that earlier existence and this one. It was one of the few things he could point to and say, definitively, that it was what made her Freckles. He resolved that if he ever had the money, he'd buy her a fully stocked old house that she could rummage through to her heart's content.

"Look at this," she said, excited. He was disappointed to see that what she pulled out of the cabinet wasn't food, but instead a rolled up piece of paper. "It's a map of the area," she explained, unrolling it on the desk and holding it flat. He moved nearer and shone the flashlight onto the surface.

"Here's where we are," she continued, pointing at a spot toward the middle. "This is the ranger station." She ran her finger over the map, searching for something, then stopped. "I think this is it... This is where we're going. It says 'C. W. Preserve.' She said his name was Clifford something, right?"

"Yeah," Sawyer said, pulling her hair back from where it had fallen over the paper so that he could see. "That's gotta be it. How far is it?"

She measured the distance with her eyes and mentally calculated. "About ten miles. Not far at all."

He wasn't sure he would describe ten miles as being "_not far at all_," but he let the remark pass.

"It's northwest of here... right on the Alaska border," she said. "Looks like there's a mining village not too far from it. Maybe they'll have a bar or something," she said, seemingly trying to ease his mind about how isolated they would be.

"It say anything about a strip club on there?" he asked morosely.

She ignored him. "The preserve's almost completely blocked off by these mountains on the south... but it looks like there's a pass. Shine it right here," she said. He moved the flashlight beam.

"It goes straight through," Kate said, examining the map closely. She looked up at Sawyer, an idea forming in her mind. "If we could get to this pass, we could make it all the way there on foot. We wouldn't have to risk sending out a radio signal and having it be detected by anyone."

He wasn't fully convinced of the merits of this plan. "Just because it says there's a pass don't mean it'll be easy to walk right through it. You ever hear of the Donner party?"

"I'm not saying it would be easy. But it might be safer, considering how many people are looking for us." She glanced down at the map again, then sighed. "We don't need to decide right now, though. For one night, I just want to pretend that we aren't running for our lives. We'll worry about it tomorrow."

She rolled the paper up again, wrapping it with a rubber band. "I'm taking this, though," she added with raised eyebrows, going off to secure it in her backpack.

He smiled after her. A snoop, and a kleptomaniac into the bargain. Damn, she made him proud.

* * *

They discovered nothing edible in the main room of the lodge, either, despite doing a thorough search. Back in the smaller room that they'd unofficially claimed as theirs, they decided to explore what appeared to be a closet. The door was nearly hidden by stacks of folding chairs and a coat rack, so together, they cleared everything out of the way. It was locked, but Sawyer easily picked it using a wire coat hanger. He pulled the door open and Kate shone the flashlight in, expectantly. There were two shelves stocked with canned goods. 

"What'd I tell you?" she couldn't resist crowing.

In his relief at the fact that they wouldn't starve, he let her have her moment of glory.

Now came the fun part - figuring out exactly _how _they were going to make a meal out of this. Kate seemed up for the challenge, so he allowed her to figure out the details. After they'd uncovered a box of simple, utilitarian cookware, she sent him out with a large sauce pan to get snow to melt, and then she put it over the fire to warm. They quickly realized that despite all the food, the closet did _not _come equipped with a can opener, so they devised a method of gouging holes in the tops of the cans using the pocket knife. Sawyer tried his best to keep all his fingers intact.

When the water was warm, Kate began by adding a can of vegetable soup to the pan. She then reinforced this mixture with a can of green beans and a can of corn, dumping them both in without hesitation, joyfully, like a child playing in a sandbox.

Sawyer picked up a can of asparagus. "So _that's _what the stuff looks like," he marveled, staring at the label.

"I _told _you it was different than artichoke," Kate answered, referring to one of their long-standing feuds. "Should we put it in?" she added, in a mock serious tone of voice, as if this were a life and death situation.

"You're the chef."

She contemplated for a moment, then nodded briskly. "Go for it."

Sawyer upended the can and dumped the soggy green mixture into the saucepan. Kate mixed it together with a long tuning fork that was probably meant for roasting hot dogs or marshmallows, neither one of which they had, unfortunately. She seemed to be enjoying the hell out of this.

They opened a few more cans of various vegetables and threw them into the mix. There were at least fifty in the closet, so there was no danger of running out. For some reason, they both felt the need to be extravagant tonight, or at least as extravagant as the straitened circumstances would allow. This was the most fun they'd had with each other in recent memory. All the stress they'd been enduring fell away from them, and they slipped seamlessly back into the easygoing, flirtatious camaraderie they'd fine-tuned during those few perfect weeks in the fall. The room grew warm and comfortable from the fire while the snow came down unheeded outside, drifting past the windows on the opposite wall. They were still alone in the middle of the wilderness, but it no longer felt like it.

Holding a can of cherries over the pan, Sawyer pretended he was going to dump them in. "Don't!" Kate squealed, grabbing his arm.

"What? Thought you wanted a little of everything in there?" he teased her.

"That's pie filling! You'll ruin it."

"At this point, you really think it can be ruined?" She tried to pull his arm away, but he still acted like he was determined to put the cherries in. He tickled her with his other hand to distract her. Kate dissolved into a giggling fit, which was such a rare occurrence these days that it had an aura of the miraculous about it. She finally wrested the can away from his hand by throwing all her weight against him and knocking him over onto his back. He tried to keep her on the floor with him, but she wriggled out of his grasp, taking the pie filling with her as a trophy.

"Would you leave me alone?" she asked with a grin, crawling back to the saucepan. "I'm trying to _cook_, here." She spoke as if she were standing in a gleaming, beautiful kitchen filled with top-of-the-line appliances and utensils, rather than sitting on the floor mixing cans of watery vegetables into the world's most dismal-looking stew.

To give himself something to do, Sawyer ran the beam of the flashlight over her body while she stirred, stopping on her breasts. "_Wellll_...," he drawled. "Interesting."

"What?" she demanded in spite of herself.

"I think they're bigger."

"They're _not _bigger," she said, laughing. "It's too early for that."

"No offense, Freckles, but I'm pretty sure I know 'em better than you do. And if I say they look bigger, there's a damn good chance they are."

She was quiet for a second. "Really?" she asked, staring down into the pan, not meeting his eyes.

"I'd bet money on it," he assured her.

She sniffed contemptuously, though she was clearly pleased. "Go get that candelabra from the other room. This is almost ready."

He fetched it, not thinking it was necessary, but if she wanted to dress this thing up, then far be it from him to stop her. She reheated the saucepan over the fire, then pulled a cardboard box over to the rug and turned it upside down, draping it with a moth-eaten sheet and placing the lighted candles and the saucepan on it like a table. On each side, she laid a flimsy plastic spoon from a container in the closet. Last but not least, she dragged out two folding chairs and set them up on opposite sides of the box.

Sawyer watched this entire process, mesmerized. It wasn't the end result that mattered to him - like any man, he couldn't have cared less whether they had a tablecloth or candles. It was the fact that she even bothered to put so much effort into transforming this place into a dining room, into creating the semblance of a romantic meal for them. Even with all the time she'd spent on the run, with all the miserable, wretched places she'd had to hide, she'd never compromised. She still cared about the details. She was still so fiercely determined to _live_, and not merely to exist. They hadn't yet defeated her. She would never give in.

"Your table, sir," she said in an exaggerated manner, smiling and holding out a chair for him. He sat down and grabbed her hand before she moved away, kissing it gallantly. She seated herself across from him.

"Happy Hanukkah," Sawyer said, glancing at the candles.

"It's not a _menorah_," she pointed out.

He was pretty sure it _was _a menorah, but he didn't argue with her. He also didn't ask her about Paul, which he'd planned to do over dinner (assuming they _found _something for dinner), but now he changed his mind. He didn't want to introduce anything serious into the conversation. It would shatter this wonderful, silly atmosphere they'd managed to surround themselves with. He would ask to hear the story later, when they were drifting off to sleep. That was the best time to talk to her, anyway. She spilled everything when she was tired. He wouldn't have to pry for each individual nugget of information, like he would if he tried to get it out of her now.

They both ate directly from the saucepan, since there didn't seem to be any point in ladling it into separate containers. It was almost certainly the most disgusting feast anybody had ever partaken of, yet nothing had ever tasted better to the two of them. They ate nearly all of it. Then they had half the can of cherry pie filling for dessert, saving the rest for breakfast.

After they'd finished, Kate cleared away the makeshift table and blew out the candles. Her romanticism only went so far. She got Sawyer to help her pull down two of the cots, and after a few perplexed moments of examining them from top to bottom, they figured out how to set them up on their wooden stands. They were old and rickety, and the canvas smelled musty and dank, but it would have to be better than sleeping on the floor. At least they bore some, albeit slight, resemblance to beds. Behind the cots, there were also some sleeping bags, rolled up and stacked on top of one another. Kate pounced upon these eagerly, delighted with the thought of sleeping on something soft for a change.

Sawyer was less than thrilled. "I ain't gonna crawl inside somebody's old sleeping bag," he argued, sounding disgusted. "That's like gettin' in somebody else's used condom!"

Kate closed her eyes at the image, refusing to take him seriously. "Then sleep on top of it, Sawyer."

He allowed her to unroll two of them over the cots, but he eyed them both suspiciously, like something alive might poke out of one at any moment.

After they'd gotten these temporary beds ready, Kate used her charms to coax Sawyer to go outside, once more, in order to collect some water for them to wash with. It was true that they hadn't been able to change clothes or clean up in days, though he imagined she was probably more bothered by the fact than he was. She was determined that they at least make the _effort _to bathe here, even with the lack of electricity or running water.

Bringing in snow would have been too time-consuming, however, and though Sawyer wasn't at all looking forward to trekking back down to the river in this weather, Kate's promise that she would wash him herself, sponge-bath style, finally convinced him. Good-naturedly, he brought in a bucketful, and she heated it over the fire in some of the cooking pots. He had a newfound respect for the people of an earlier age who had lived this way their entire lives. It was one thing to deal with nature and the elements on a lush, warm tropical island, but in a place like _this_? He didn't understand how the poor bastards had avoided killing themselves and just putting an end to the whole sorry business.

Kate called first dibs on the water, so he settled back to wait, peeling his shirt off and tossing it aside. Since there was no furniture in the room other than the metal folding chairs, and since he would have felt like a dipshit sitting on the cot with his ass sinking into the middle of it while his legs stuck over the side like a four-year-old's, he decided to lie on his side, which was more comfortable anyway. The thick sleeping bag felt wonderful underneath him, so he abandoned his earlier misgivings. It wasn't a bed, but it sure as hell wasn't the floor of a cave, or the ground. It made him realize how tired he was.

While the water was heating, Kate tore part of the sheet that she'd used as a tablecloth into squares, now intending to use the fabric as washcloths. She undressed, draping her clothes over the other cot, until she stood in front of the fire completely nude. Sawyer was suddenly wide awake again.

When the water was warm enough, she pinned her hair up, deftly forming it into a bun by knotting it around itself in a move he _still _hadn't been able to figure out, despite seeing her do it countless times. It was like some carnival trick, where no matter how closely you watched the barker's hands, you were still unable to determine which card was yours when he stopped moving them. Now she tested the water with her finger to see if it was warm enough, then dipped the cloth in and started running it over her skin, starting with her face, then moving to her neck, chest, arms, and stomach. It was fascninating.

At one point she turned and noticed Sawyer watching her, absorbed in every little step of the process. "You know, it's not polite to stare," she remarked mildly.

"There ain't anything good on TV," he said, not taking his eyes off of her.

She scrubbed her legs and feet, then dipped the cloth in again, pausing before she resumed. She glanced at him, embarrassed. "All right, turn around for the last part."

"_Why_?" he asked. "It's not like I never seen it before, sweetheart."

"That's _different_," she said, smiling. "Turn around."

Rolling his eyes, he shifted onto his other side, giving her her completely unnecessary but required privacy. He noticed his coat in a heap on the floor nearby, and he reached for it, dragging it toward him. A drink didn't sound half bad right now. He felt around in the inner pocket, then checked the other side. Then he double-checked both sides, again. It was just as he'd suspected at first. There was nothing there.

He turned back around again. Kate was drying herself off with the other half of the sheet, not paying attention to him.

"My whiskey's gone," he said casually.

He detected just the slightest hesitation in her movements, barely noticeable. "Maybe you drank it all."

He smirked a little, looking like a snake moving in on its prey. "Maybe I _didn't_," he replied.

She continued drying herself, her face even and expressionless.

"The whole flask is gone," he added. "Not just the liquor."

"It could have fallen out of your coat while we were traveling. You might not have even noticed." She folded the rest of the sheet over and draped it across the hearth, moving the pot of used water to the side and pouring a fresh one to heat for him.

"Where is it?" he asked slowly, already enjoying this.

Kate glanced up at him, an expression of bemused surprise on her face. "What are you asking _me _for? You think _I_ drank it?" She looked away quickly, not maintaining eye contact.

Although Sawyer already had a pretty good idea of who'd drunk it, and how he'd got it, he wanted her to admit it to him. Calling her bluff was part of the game. He knew it drove her crazy that he never fell for her innocent act.

She started to move past him to her cot, where her clothes were. In a flash, before she could even realize how he'd done it, he pulled her down on top of him, securing her hands above his head and locking her legs in place with one of his own, in a manner similar to the way he'd once kept her from taking the marshal's case. Only _that _time, of course, she'd been dressed.

She pulled against him, automatically trying to free herself, but it was no use.

"Where is it, Freckles?" he asked with a wicked grin. "Tell me and I'll let you up."

Smiling back, she strained against him again, breathing hard. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"Don't have to say it out loud, do I? I'm _tryin' _to be a gentleman, here."

"Yeah, I can see that," she panted. Their bare chests were pressed tightly together, and he could feel her heart beating against his. She made a swift jerking movement, trying to extract her legs, and he tightened his grip, keeping them pinned down. She stared straight into his eyes, her expression challenging and yet excited at the same time. He didn't care how much she protested; it was obvious she enjoyed this just as much as he did, and always had.

"I wouldn't go for the head butt if I were you," he said, seeing what she was thinking. "You knock me out, who's gonna haul in the snow for your morning spa treatment?"

Her eyes scanned his face, considering. Then, coming to a decision, she lowered her head. To his amazement, he felt her mouth on his neck, then on his ear, her lips closing around him in a sensuous pattern. Her teeth nibbled at him almost daintily. She blew warm puffs of air against his skin in tiny, almost purring sighs.

"Hey now, don't try to change the subject," he warned in a low growl.

But it was already too late, of course. He suddenly found that he didn't give a damn about the fate of the flask, or about hearing her admit that she'd given the rest of his whiskey to that son-of-a-bitch Paul. She could have used it to get a urine sample from the guy and he wouldn't have minded at this point. Just as she'd intended, he was completely, one-hundred-percent in her power. _Damn_. He had to hand it to her... she was good. She was dangerously, disturbingly good.

He let go of her wrists and ran his hands down her arms, then pulled the temporary bun out and raked his fingers through her hair and down over her back. She attacked his mouth hungrily, moving her lower body against his in slow, undulating waves that nearly made his eyes roll back in his head. Pushing his hips up into her, he kept her trapped against him with his leg. He let his hands travel lower and lower, feeling her draw in her breath sharply against his mouth. His fingers mimicked the motion of his tongue until she pulled away, gasping. Her face was already flushed with desire.

With her freely given assistance, he managed to get rid of his pants without even sitting up on the cot. They spent ample time on the preliminaries, lavishing the kind of attention on each other that they'd barely bothered with for the last few weeks. Sawyer soon lost track of how long it had been since he'd pulled her down onto him. For the first time in a while, they had no reason to hurry. There was nothing and nobody to disturb them. They could do whatever they wanted, wherever they wanted, and for as long as they wanted. They could even make noise if they felt like it. He clasped her to him, reveling in the feel of being inside her, holding her pressed against him without needing to move yet.

Eventually, of course, they _did _move. They moved so much, and with such breathless, insistent urgency that he was glad she was on top, because he didn't know if he would have had the stamina after the day's trek. They seemed to lose all consciousness of their surroundings, of any concept of past or future. And in one of those always strived for yet rarely attained instances of sexual synchronicity, they managed to keep exact pace with each other. When they finally surged together, muscles clenching and releasing, at precisely the same instant, they were barely aware of the straining, splintering crack of wood and then the jolting collapse of the cot. It seemed to be just part and parcel of the glorious upheaval they were already experiencing, physically.

They opened their eyes, still slightly rising and falling against each other through the electric aftershocks of pleasure, to find themselves on the floor. Glancing around with vague confusion, breathing hard, they tried to make sense of what had happened.

Laughing a little, Kate lowered her head back to his shoulder.

"I think we broke it," she whispered.

"I'll be damned." Sawyer was a little proud of this accomplishment, even though Kate had done most of the work, so to speak. He pulled her head up to look at the gorgeous, glowing tinge of her skin, kissing a line from the hollow of her throat up to her mouth. "Let's break another one," he suggested with an arch look.

She considered this offer while he kissed back down to her throat again, and then continued to her chest. "Okay," she agreed, closing her eyes.

And, true to their word, they _did _break another one over the next few hours.

Two more, in fact.


	30. Chapter 30

Hey guys! This chapter was supposed to be posted WAY before now, but I've been without internet for a bit... Seems they shut you off if you don't pay the bill. Who knew? Anyway...

I feel the need to add a little a disclaimer before this update. Three important things you should remember.

1.) This chapter might seem a little abrupt, but it was originally supposed to follow directly after the last one - 29 should have flowed right into this. I didn't intend for there to be a 2-week gap, so it might feel off.

2.) You _wanted_ this fic to go on longer, right? And...

3.) **TRUST ME**. ;)

As always, your reviews are like payment to me. (Well, not literal payment... just ask my internet provider.) But they mean a lot to me, so thank you so much for taking the time! I'm going to try to make a list of any questions I might be missing, so I will address those next update.

* * *

**Chapter 30**

"Hold still," Kate directed with an air of impatience, trying to angle Sawyer's hand into the feeble light cast by the kerosene lamp.

"Hey, _easy_!" he complained. "You got the skin that time."

She shook her head a little, implying that he was the world's biggest baby, but she didn't say anything. Over the course of their evening's activities, it had become quite obvious to her that his fingernails needed to be cut. Strangely enough, out of all the items of convenience that they _didn't _have with them, nail clippers just happened to be one that they _did_, since these had traveled the entire way in the front of the backpack. So, after they'd washed each other (Kate had of course needed to clean up again, the first time having been thoroughly negated by all the sex that followed), she'd taken the clippers out and raised her eyebrows at him meaningfully. Sawyer had offered to do the job himself, but Kate had insisted on doing it for him. She'd learned, during the relatively short span of their relationship, that when he did it himself, he left jagged edges. And considering how often his hands were on her, she'd found that it was in her best interest to ensure there were no jagged edges.

He sighed, making another effort to hold his fingers still. "All right, so what then? After he said you were even?"

Kate thought for a second, concentrating on his left thumb. "That was it, basically. We said goodnight. I fell asleep next to you, and he was gone when we woke up. You know the rest."

He watched her, waiting for her to look up at him. She finally did.

"I don't buy it."

"Oh, come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "You think anybody would bother to make something like that up? Why would anyone _want _to be related to me? He was telling the truth, Sawyer. I know he was."

He still didn't appear convinced. And he didn't seem at all happy about the fact that Kate _was _so easily convinced. He'd had a look of irritated skepticism on his face since the first few words of her explanation about Paul.

"Hell of a place to decide he wants a family reunion."

"That's not what he wanted," she said again, trying to keep her patience. "He was still planning to turn me in when he came out there. He only changed his mind at the last minute."

"Nobody just _changes their mind _about somethin' that big."

"Of course they do. People do it all the time. You didn't even want to let me hide out at your house when I first showed up, remember? You told me to keep moving. But then you changed your mind. It's human nature."

"Yeah, well... That was different," he argued.

"How?"

"I was tryin' to get in your pants!"

Kate smiled a little, as if she should have expected this answer. "You can say whatever you want, but deep down, you needed to do the right thing. So did he." She paused, and then pressed her point. "We saved his life, didn't we? Something like that would have to screw with someone's priorities a little."

"_You _saved his life," Sawyer corrected her, his face dark. "Didn't have nothin' to do with me."

She glanced at him, then finished up his last fingernail, relinquishing his hand. "Anyway. He's gone now, and he doesn't want anything from me... So it all worked out for the best."

"_It all worked out for the best_?" Sawyer echoed, looking like he thought this was the stupidest thing she'd ever said to him. "Hate to change the channel on your little after-school-special, sweetheart, but that ain't exactly how I'd describe it. And how the hell do you know you can even trust the guy, anyway?"

She looked into the fire for a second, thoughtfully. "I just know," she said in a simple voice.

Sawyer gave a sarcastic scoff. "Hard to argue with _that _kind of logic." Her attitude seemed to be making him much angrier than it had any right to, and it looked like he was trying to keep the worst of it under wraps.

Kate closed her eyes briefly. "This is exactly why I put off telling you about this."

"Well, what do you want me to say?" he demanded. "You want me to call the bastard up, invite him over to watch the game? Make plans for a little barbecue on the Fourth of July? Few weeks ago, you tell me this guy's a bounty hunter, now you're actin' like he's your guardian angel! I'm not real sure what kind of reaction you were _expecting, _here."

"I'm not expecting anything," she protested. "I'm just telling you what happened last night. And if it makes you feel any better, we'll probably never see him again."

"If he knows what's good for him, we won't," Sawyer said in a low, threatening voice. "Meg's _dead _because of him. And he damn near got us killed too. I don't care who he says he is, or whether he had some big melodramatic _change of heart _or not. He ever comes near you again, I'll kill him."

Kate raised her eyes to his, knowing how lethally serious he was about this warning. They stared at each other, the air heavy with unspoken tension. All the teasing jocularity between them had vanished in an instant.

"You don't get to make that decision," she finally said, quietly.

He smiled a little, almost maliciously. "Well, looks like I just did, didn't I?"

They continued to watch each other, the atmosphere between them threatening to take a disastrous plunge into the danger zone. Kate understood, instinctively, that this was one point he wouldn't back down on, and neither would she. It could only turn into a fight. And that was the last thing in the world she wanted right now. Not after everything had been going so well tonight. This whole day, in fact, had been almost unnaturally perfect. It couldn't end like this. Wisely choosing to let the situation dissipate on its own, she stood up.

"I'm going out to the latrine," she said, leaving the room.

Without even bothering to get her coat, she hoisted herself through the office window and headed toward the area near the shed. They'd found, to their disappointment but not to their surprise, that this place had no indoor plumbing. She didn't actually need to go, though - she'd only wanted to get away from Sawyer for a minute. She stood against the side of the shed under an overhanging section of roof and listened to the subdued roar of the river down below the ranger's station. It was strangely hypnotic. The snow still fell, although it had slackened somewhat. She breathed deeply, trying to let go of any remaining anger.

There was something about the tone of his voice when he said things like that - _Well, looks like I just did, didn't I_? - and that cocky gleam in his eye, that infuriated her. This time, she didn't think it was the overprotectiveness that was bothering her. She'd finally accepted that for what it was, and knew it wasn't likely to disappear for quite some time, if ever. She couldn't have put her finger on exactly what the issue was, but deep down, she sensed that there was something dangerously _possessive _in the way Sawyer felt about her. This time, it wasn't even an issue of sexual jealousy, the way it had been with Jack. At least in that instance, he hadn't been crazy to be worried. But if Paul was to be believed, he was her _half-brother_, for God's sake. There was nothing to fear from that angle. Even for Sawyer, it was too twisted.

Somehow, though, she didn't think it was Paul himself that was the problem. It was _her_, and the threat that she might actually consider this stranger as potential family. She was beginning to understand that for Sawyer, even the vaguest notion of her caring about somebody else, the thought of her having _any _room in her heart for someone other than him - it bothered him on a level he probably wasn't even aware of. It was like he feared that his own hold on her was so tenuous that anybody else had the potential to elbow him out, an attitude that was to her almost morbidly ridiculous. And even her slight grasp on its truth made her pity him and somehow fear for him at the same time. What would happen when the baby was born? she wondered, thinking not in words but in unspecific, shadowy images. Was it possible he would be _jealous_? Jealous of the love she had for their own child? Surely not. It didn't work that way, did it? It wasn't a pattern she was familiar with. Though with Sawyer, of course, none of the usual rules really applied. If only he had more practical experience with how love was supposed to work, she thought with sadness. If only his heart wasn't so badly damaged. Then again, how could she wish that for him without wishing it for herself as well?

She trudged back to the building, pulling herself through the window again and sliding it shut after her. She brushed the snow off her sleeves and then raised her head up, noticing Sawyer leaning in the door frame of the office, looking just the slightest bit sheepish.

"Still comin' down out there?" he asked, moving nearer and looking up at the sky.

"Yeah," she said quietly, accepting his non-apology. She turned back toward the window. "I'm not sure we'll be able to leave tomorrow. We might be snowed in here for a few days."

He considered this, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Tell you the truth, that don't sound half bad to me. We could use a breather."

She leaned back against him, still looking out at the dark, wintry night. For no discernible reason, she had a sudden sense of something threatening them, looming over them. It wasn't related to the potential fight they'd just avoided. It was a thing completely separate, an unspecified weight that oppressed her with a sense of dread so primal that for a second she thought he must have felt it too. But that was crazy. It was probably just hormones. As of yet, those hadn't been much of an issue for her, but maybe that particular stage was just kicking in.

Rationalizing it away only went so far, though, and, unable to help herself, she felt a slight shudder pass through her frame.

Sawyer wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Cold?" he asked.

"I guess," she said. "Or maybe a goose just walked over my grave. That's what my mom used to say." She tried to smile. Throwing in that random tidbit was supposed to make her feel better, to dissolve the gloom. Instead, it made her feel even worse. Of all things, why had she been reminded of her _mother_?

He was quiet for a second. "Well," he said, giving her a squeeze. "You see that goose again, tell it to walk over this way. I'll wring its neck and then we can roast it."

Kate laughed at the absurdity of the image. And with that one uncomplicated laugh, everything was suddenly okay again. It was amazing how he could do that.

She turned around, facing him. "I don't know what I would do without you."

She'd intended the words to sound joking, the same kind of flirtatious teasing she always used with him. But they came out before she could censor them, her tone unusually earnest and sincere. She glanced down, a little embarrassed, and then back up at him. He made a weak attempt at a mocking laugh, and he appeared to be trying to think of a witty comeback. His expression was the closest thing she'd ever seen it approach to _shyness_, and it somehow startled her. He couldn't seem to think of anything to say in response. She could see as plain as day how much those simple words had meant to him, and it suddenly pained her that she'd waited so long to say them. Why hadn't she ever _told him_ that before? It wasn't like it had cost her anything, other than a tiny bit of pride.

Without warning, she reached up and put her arms around him, hiding her face against his neck. He smoothed her hair down and pressed his lips to the side of her head. They stood there like that, not saying anything to each other. After a few seconds, they went back into the other room, almost as if escaping the power of the emotional frankness they'd for once allowed themselves, leaving it safely behind in the office.

Kate pulled down two more cots and set them up next to each other in front of the fireplace while Sawyer watched.

"That's mighty ambitious of you, Freckles, but to be honest, I'm not sure I got the stamina for two more times," he said in a meaningful drawl.

She smiled. "These are for _sleeping_." She threw a few logs onto the fire, sweeping the twigs off the hearth in a finicky manner like she was playing house. Moving over to the kerosene lamp, she turned the knob, damping the flame down to just the barest flicker. Considering how much trouble it was to light, it would be easier to leave the thing burning. Next, she kicked off her shoes, and then, without ceremony, unrolled two fresh sleeping bags onto the cots and crawled inside one, stretching out. She was grateful for the fact that she could be comfortable almost anywhere.

Sawyer grabbed his coat from the floor and pulled it on, buttoning up the front.

"What are you doing?" Kate asked, confused, raising her head up to watch him.

"Already told you I ain't gonna get inside one of those things. You want me to freeze?"

She tried to hide her amusement as he lay down on the cot beside her, remaining cautiously on top of the sleeping bag. He didn't even take his shoes off.

"Go ahead and laugh it up," he said, noticing her struggle. "I bet you won't think it's so damn funny if you wake up with some mysterious itch tomorrow in a place you don't feel like scratchin'."

"I'm wearing my _clothes_," she said.

"Better safe than sorry," was all he offered in response.

They lay beside each other in the dim, quiet room, waiting to drift off. A few intermittent pops and crackles from the fireplace punctuated the silence. Kate shifted onto her stomach, looking at Sawyer across the short space between them. She felt her eyelids growing heavy.

"Hey," she said in a lazy voice. "What do you want for Christmas?"

He focused his eyes on her face, making an effort to stay awake. "_What_?"

"It's coming up in a few weeks. I almost forgot about it."

"Damn," he said in wonder. "Seems like we just made those stupid Halloween costumes."

"They weren't stupid," she argued, smiling a little. She was very close to sleep now.

"What do I want?" he muttered to himself, pondering the question. "How 'bout a case of cigarettes and a gallon jug of whiskey?"

She closed her eyes, wryly. "Maybe you need some more time to think about it."

"Think so, huh?" he teased her. He let a few seconds elapse. "What about you?"

"What _about _me?" she asked sleepily, as if she'd already forgotten what they were talking about.

"What do you _want_? For Christmas?"

With a deep, tired intake of breath, she turned over onto her back, readjusting the sleeping back under her arms. She stared at the ceiling, taking so long to answer that Sawyer seemed to have given up on the question.

"I don't know," she finally admitted with defeat. "I can't think of anything." She turned to look at him, dropping her voice to a register barely above a whisper. "I just want to get there. To be able to stop running. If I can have that, I don't want anything else."

Sawyer was quiet for a second. "Well," he said with a sigh. "Who knows. Maybe Santa Clause is listenin'." He raised his eyebrows at her.

She gave him a sad smile. "I doubt it," she said. "I don't think I've been very good this year." They shared a half-understanding, half-conspiratorial look. Then she shifted again, turning away from him. "G'night," she whispered.

He stared longingly at her back, as if regretting that she was just a little too far out of reach.

"Night," he eventually said.

* * *

Kate raised her head from the sleeping bag, listening. She didn't know what it was that had made her wake up. The room was quiet, and still dark, though the temperature had dropped a bit. The embers of the fire glowed dimly, and the lamp on the table formed another faint, flickering light. Sawyer slept soundly in the cot beside her, on his back now, his arm splayed over the edge. He breathed deeply, undisturbed.

The room felt tense to her, though, the atmosphere thick with danger. She put her hand on her lower belly, wondering if it was something physical that had pulled her from sleep, something wrong with the pregnancy. But she felt fine. Had she been dreaming? If she was, she couldn't remember anything about it. But that _had _to be it. There was no other explanation.

Careful not to make any noise, she pulled her shoes on and went to make sure they'd closed the office window completely. She knew the cold wasn't what was bothering her, but she felt the need to do something. The window was sealed tight, just as they'd left it. She ran the flashlight beam over the main lodge too, lighting up the mounted grizzly bear with her coat still tossed comically over his head. Nothing out of order in here, either, so she went back into the smaller room, forcing herself to relax. She lay back down and turned toward Sawyer again, trying to match her breathing to his in order to fall asleep more quickly.

But she couldn't shake the notion that something was wrong. She wanted him to open his eyes. She wanted to talk to him. She felt the almost overpowering need to hear his voice, and though she knew he would think she was crazy, and would probably make fun of her for days, she couldn't help it. She had to wake him up this time.

Leaning up onto one elbow, she reached across to the other cot and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Sawyer," she whispered.

To her surprise, he opened his eyes instantly, which was unusual for him. Shifting onto his side, he looked at her, worried and already alert. They stared at each other without saying anything for a few long, drawn-out seconds. They both seemed to be waiting for something that they didn't know how to anticipate.

Suddenly there was a sharp, clinking sound, and then a patter of falling glass. They jumped, startled, looking around. Something hit the floor with a thud and rolled across to them. Kate stared down at it, feeling like time was moving in slow-motion. The object had the appearance of a slightly larger-than-normal asthma inhaler. Then it began to hiss, emitting a thin jet of whitish smoke.

_Tear gas_.

She immediately clapped her hands to her face and jerked herself up from the cot. Sawyer moved too. Together, in one motion, they grabbed the sleeping bags and threw them over the hissing canister, stifling a good portion of the noxious fumes. They stood on top of the mass and stared at each other in shock, trying to process what was happening, how this could _possibly _be happening _here_, now, of all times. They'd made it so far. They'd come _so close_.

Sawyer's eyes moved with growing horror to Kate's stomach, where a tiny dot of red light was focused. He jerked his head, tracing the beam from the window, and then grabbed her and yanked her to the floor with all the strength he could command. "Get down!" He felt her body connect with a hard, muffled impact, just as the bizarrely quiet trajectory of the bullet whizzed by over their heads.

There was another shattering of glass, and the lamp exploded, kerosene spraying in all directions. The funnel with the lighted wick collapsed sideways and fell from the table, flame leaping up from the floor and fanning out as soon as it hit the already-spilled fluid. Kate and Sawyer moved back fast, pulling themselves up as the blaze traveled rapidly toward them. The sleeping bags were already being consumed, and the room began to fill with the distorted light of dancing fire. There was no hope of putting it out; too much of the kerosene had coated the floor, dooming the building to destruction.

They retreated hastily into the main lodge, crouching down near the doorway to stay out of sight of the windows. The muffled, lapping crackle of the growing flames was the only sound other than their breathing.

"That son-of-a-bitch," Sawyer said fiercely.

"It wasn't him. He didn't do this." Kate's voice was quiet, and eerily calm. She stared into the fire, spellbound, living out her worst nightmare. "Don't you get it? They finally caught up with us. It's just... _fate_," she finished in a whisper.

Sawyer looked at her like she'd suddenly started speaking a different language. "Yeah, well _fate _chose the wrong two people to fuck around with," he said with true hatred in his eyes. She felt him pulling her up, dragging her across the main lodge. Glancing around wildly, he muttered, "_The map_." Kate watched as he darted back into the burning interior of the smaller room, returning with her singed backpack. She only vaguely wondered why he was bothering. What good could the map possibly do them now?

Another breaking of glass shattered the quiet as one of the windows in the main room was shot out, and they ducked, shielding their faces. Out of the edge of her vision, Kate saw Sawyer draw the gun out from his coat, saw him aim it and heard the deafening blasts of two shots fired toward the same window. She barely even flinched. Because captivating her attention was an imagein the flames that were already steadily overflowing and spilling out of the smaller room. She stared into them, transfixed, trying to make out the details of what she was seeing, knowing she couldn't really be seeing it but fascinated all the same.

There were people in there. Her mother. She could see her mother. And _him_. Wayne. They were both there. They were standing together, watching her. Waiting for her. She remembered the carnival they'd stopped at a few weeks ago, the horrifying image she'd seen in the funhouse mirrors. And now they'd both caught up with her, after all. Why had she even bothered to pretend they wouldn't?

_Katherine_.

She took a step closer, listening, waiting for the whispering to return.

_Come home._

She felt drawn toward the fire by a power she wasn't able to fight, by a longing she couldn't resist. It was the source of everything that she craved. It was her forgiveness and her punishment, her redemption and her purification, all in one, whole and complete. She would never need anything else. It would all be finished.

The intoxicating warmth of the flames drew her forward, and she had the sense of being drunk. Somebody else was trying to distract her, yelling directions, asking questions. Sawyer, she assumed. But she could barely hear him. She tried to shake him off of her arm, regarding him now as a petty annoyance. Why wouldn't he leave her alone? He kept tugging on her, trying to drag her away. She continued to make the effort to move back toward the fire, but her parents receded further into it, wavering and indistinct. She was losing sight of them, the hallucination fading out of her grasp. "Wait," she said under her breath, pleading. The smoke was making it hard to breathe. "Wait for me!" All she wanted was to rest. If she could just get to them... If she could just make it a little further, then she could rest. Rest and burn, all at once. Just as she'd always known she would. Just a few more steps...

A loud _smack _and a bracing jolt of pain, followed by a burning heat, suddenly fell across her face. Stunned, she raised her hand to her cheek and looked up at Sawyer as if she'd forgotten he was there, as if she'd almost forgotten who he _was_, or what was happening.

He stared down at her, only slightly apologetic for what he'd had to do. Mostly, he just seemed terrified for her, bewildered by her behavior.

"I don't know what you think you see, baby, but you better snap the hell out of it right now." He pulled her coat around her and began frantically stuffing her arms into the sleeves, like she was a child who couldn't dress herself. "We got to get outta here, fast. Whole place is goin' up."

She glanced back at the approaching flames again, hopeless, feeling like she was losing something. She didn't have the strength to chase it, but she didn't have the strength to run from it, either. Everything was falling apart. She didn't want to go anywhere. The thought of leaving here, of trying to escape again, of all it would entail... It was impossible. She couldn't face it. She had to stay here.

"Sawyer," she said softly, near tears. Her entire body felt drained, limp and incapable of movement. "I'm so _tired_."

He grasped the lapels of her coat, pulling her toward him, angry now. Leaning in, he spoke just inches from her face, the firelight illuminating the driven, desperate glint in his eyes. "Listen to me," he hissed. "I've spent my whole worthless life lookin' for a reason to die. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna hunker down here with you and go out in some movie-of-the-week blaze a' glory now that I finally got a reason to _live_. You understand me? It _ain't gonna happen like this_."

She wavered, trying to fight against the force of his words. Why did he have to make it so hard? What did he _want _from her? She felt like she didn't have anything left to give him. Didn't he see that this was the way it was supposed to end for them? She'd spent so much time fighting it, denying it, trying to have a future... Why couldn't he let her accept it? _Why couldn't he just leave her the hell alone_?

"You're stronger than this, Freckles," he said, gripping the sides of her face and holding her gaze, refusing to allow her to look away from him. "Whether you know it or not. So what do you say you put the mental breakdown on hold for awhile and _give me a hand here_!"

The conviction in his tone and the sheer _need _in his expression were too much for her. He wouldn't let her give up, no matter how much she ached to. There was simply no way to cut through this invisible tether that bound them to each other. Sawyer was going to anchor her to reality, to _life_, whether she wanted it or not. She wondered if she would ever be able to forgive him for it.

A pounding sound reached them from the front entrance. Their pursuers, presumably the FBI, were now attempting to break down the doors. Kate glanced into the fire one more time, but there was nothing to see anymore. The smoke was obscuring everything. Whatever had been in there waiting for her, it was gone now. She took a deep, shaky breath, relinquishing what she'd been certain was her fate. She refocused all her energies on surviving, on winning yet another round of this gruesome, never-ending game that she was forced to play her role in.

"They're guarding all the windows," she said in a no-nonsense voice, sounding like Kate again. "We can't get out that way. The only chance we have..."

"The chimney," he interrupted, reading her thoughts.

She nodded curtly, agreeing. It wasn't much of a chance, but it was literally the only one they could hope for. Moving toward the hearth in the center of the wall, she ducked and peered up into the flue. "It's big enough." Standing up again, she hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder. The heat in here was becoming unbearable, and she couldn't get enough air.

"You go first," Sawyer said. "I'll be right behind ya."

There was a splintering, crashing sound, and Kate glanced back toward the entrance, afraid. Then she looked back at Sawyer, and without a word, he pulled her to him and kissed her, hard and passionately, almost painfully. Then, "Go!" he yelled, spinning her toward the hearth and shoving her down. She squeezed his hand as she moved into the empty fireplace, but then dropped it, standing up inside the opening of the chimney and concentrating on what had to be done next. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to think rationally.

The rocks were large enough to allow for a tenuous foothold, and she balanced between two sides and maneuvered up carefully, trying to go as fast as she could. The interior was a stifling, total black, with no light coming from the top at all. Looking down below her from what she judged to be the halfway point, she could barely make out a faint orange flicker. It looked like the mouth of hell.

"Sawyer!" she called. He should have started up by now. "Come on!"

There was no answer.

She felt her arms getting weak from maintaining this position, and she fought back rising panic. She started back down to see what was keeping him, but the heat was too intense. Instead, she was forced to claw her way back toward the top, choking on the soot and ashes that sifted down from where she dug her fingers in, gripping the rocks in her desperate climb. At one point she lost her footing and almost fell, but was able to brace her back against one side and use all her strength to get another toehold. The chimney seemed to go on forever. What if it never ended? she asked herself, blood pounding in her temples. What if this _was _hell? She wanted to call for Sawyer again, but she couldn't seem to get enough air. The blackness was suffocating her.

Finally, when she knew she couldn't make it much further, she felt a cold, icy draft, and a few flakes of snow blew down against her face. She struggled up a few more feet and felt her hand close over the top edge of the chimney, sinking down into the snow that had drifted there. With the last of her upper body strength, she hauled herself up and hung over the precipice, limply. She closed her eyes and waited to be shot at.

When nothing happened, she looked around. The snow still fell, lightly, and the blanket of it that covered the ground provided a dim, eerie illumination. Although there were tracks visible all around the ranger's station, she couldn't see anybody stationed on this side at the moment. There were men's voices, shouting, from the front. It sounded like they were all gathered there.

Taking her chance, she pulled herself clear of the chimney and dropped onto the roof. Crawling to the edge, she could feel the growing heat underneath her body. The shingles were hot to the touch, and smoke poured from the windows below her. _Where in God's name is he_? she wondered with terror. He couldn't still be in there.

The roof wasn't dangerously high in the back, and she knew she would have to jump. There were no alternatives. The voices were getting louder - somebody could appear on this side at any second. If she was going to try to stay out of sight, this was the only opportunity she would have.

Preparing for the worst, she dropped over the edge, landing in a snow drift and rolling onto her side to lessen the impact. A sharp pain ratcheted through her ankle, but she ignored it and pulled herself back to her feet, moving away from the cabin as fast as she could. Following the direction of the tracks that already led out of the woods so that her own footprints wouldn't be so conspicuous, she moved up toward the thick shelter of the forest.

When she'd reached cover, she finally turned to look back. The sight that met her eyes was one that would remain engraved on her memory forever, she knew. The red, nightmarish blaze of the ranger's station stood out luridly against the stark winter background. Already, the part of the roof she'd just crawled over was engulfed in flames. As she watched, it collapsed in on itself, sending up a hideous shower of sparks. Tearing her gaze away, she looked around frantically for Sawyer. There was no sign of anybody on this side. In a cold sweat of fear for him, she fought against a wave of dizziness that threatened to wash over her.

Careful to stay hidden in the darkness of the woods, she maneuvered around to a different angle so she could view the front of the building, where the padlocked doors had been, just a short while ago. Three men in matching dark bullet-proof vests stood around something on the ground. One finally moved out of the way, allowing her to get a glimpse of what they stared down at.

In her overwhelming relief at seeing Sawyer kneeling there, defiant, unhurt, she couldn't at first even comprehend the details. They only filtered in slowly, one at a time. Then she was able to process the situation in all its magnitude.

He was surrounded. He was handcuffed. He had two guns trained on him.

_He was caught._

Kate heard her own breathing, like some distorted sound effect from the end of a long, receding tunnel. "No," she moaned, not even aware she was saying it. "Oh, God... _No_." This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

Sawyer seemed oblivious to the agents surrounding him. He stared at the non-existent roof of the ranger's station, fixated on the point of the chimney which would very soon collapse into the fiery ruins. Then he scanned the area around the building, desperately searching, trying to lock onto her whereabouts with his gaze.

"I'm here," she said in a broken voice, her vision blurred by tears into a surrealistic flickering orange and white landscape. She wanted to call out to him, she wanted to run to him, to show him that she was okay, that she was _alive_. But she couldn't move.

One of the men was speaking into a walkie-talkie. A few more came around from the office side of the building. She counted at least eight agents. The one with the walkie-talkie made a gesture with his arm. "Fan out and search the perimeter, just in case!" he directed the others.

Kate took an instinctive step back. One of the agents was headed directly toward her, sending the beam of a flashlight up and over the edge of the tree line she crouched behind.

She looked again at Sawyer. He was ducking his head a bit in the snow that was starting to fall harder, exhausted but still not defeated. He seemed to have some secret, inner confidence that she wasn't in the building... that she was all right. Even from this distance, she could tell he was making a smart-ass remark to one of the agents, and she cringed as she saw him get kicked in the gut.

Now the flashlight beam came dangerously close to where she stood, pausing on a tree just in front of the one that hid her. There was no more time to waste. She couldn't just stand here and wait to be caught. He wouldn't want that. Nothing would piss him off more than her sacrificing herself like that, and she damn well knew it, although it was like someone stabbing her in the heart to realize what the decision meant for them.

"_I love you_," she whispered into the darkness.

Then she turned and did the one thing that she knew would always come naturally to her, the one thing she would always be an expert at.

She ran.


	31. Chapter 31

I don't have too much to add in the way of author notes this time - just the fact that I wasn't quite sure which order to put these sections in (Kate's and Sawyer's), though I finally decided to stick with the original plan of Sawyer first. I STILL can't decide which way I want it, though, so if you have an opinion, please let me know. I still might reverse them in the future to end with Sawyer's section.

And a very special thank you for all the (overwhelming) reviews for the last chapter. I was worried you would all hold a grudge, but I'm glad to see you do trust me (at least somewhat). I promise it'll be worth it! Don't forget, we still haven't gotten to those dang birds yet. ;)

* * *

**Chapter 31**

Sawyer sat up in his own bed, in his own room, at the house in Tennessee. He was somehow not surprised to find himself here. It made an easy, uncomplicated kind of sense, and he knew better than to question it. The surroundings were comfortingly familiar - the lumpy mattress, the faded drapes, even the annoying scented candle Kate had put on the dresser, the one that was supposed to smell like honeysuckle but instead reminded him of a backed-up garbage disposal.

_Kate_. Where was she?

He looked around, his grasp on logic fading in and out like a radio signal coming from a long distance. He had to hold onto this place in his mind, or it would change into something else. And he wanted to stay here. Kate was here. She _had _to be here, somewhere.

There was a strange sound coming from downstairs that he knew he needed to investigate. It filtered into his consciousness slowly, so that he didn't know if it had just begun or if he'd only just started to notice it. He moved toward the door, then out to the staircase and down it, in a fog. He turned into the living room.

On the couch sat the old married couple from Kentucky, Cecil and Joanne. They were watching TV - _The Wizard of Oz_, it looked like. They kept their eyes straight ahead on the flying monkeys, not even noticing him. Between them sat Casey. She looked over at Sawyer where he stood in the doorway.

"You haven't found her yet, have you?" Her voice was disappointed, but not surprised.

The mystery noise reached him again, a disturbing rattle, combined with a muted pounding, like someone was knocking on the door, but not quite the same. He turned his head. It seemed to have its source somewhere behind him now, toward the kitchen. He looked back at Casey.

"You know where she is?"

Casey mulled over this question for a few seconds, chewing on the end of a dark strand of red hair. Finally, she raised her eyebrows and said, "It's not my problem." She turned back toward the TV, dismissing him.

"What do you mean, it's not your problem?" he demanded, getting angry. He moved toward them, but all three ignored him entirely. "Hey!" he said, trying to get their attention. Cecil passed a bowl of popcorn to his wife, and she gave him a smile of thanks. It was like Sawyer was invisible.

The noise was getting louder now, and behind it, he thought he could make out muffled weeping. He gave up on getting any answers from them and moved into the kitchen. "Kate!" he called.

Everything here was just the same - or at least the same as it had been since she'd showed up. It smelled like coffee and lemon floor polish, and the table was set for two. She'd used the good china. But there was nobody in here, and the noise still hadn't stopped. He continued following it, growing more and more alarmed as he realized that it came from the pantry.

As he headed toward the door, sick with worry, the kitchen seemed to increase in size till it was the length of a football field, and he had to work hard to cross to the other side of it. Instead of two chairs, there were now about fifty, and he climbed over them and shoved them out of his way, trying to forge a path through the room. With dread, he finally pulled the pantry door open and let his gaze travel from the washer and the dryer down to the floor. The root cellar was closed, but the door shook with repeated blows from underneath, causing the latch and hinges to rattle. He kneeled down quickly and undid the latch, pulling the door open and letting it fall back with a crash.

She stood there below him, looking much smaller than she'd ever looked before, staring down at the ground so that he could only see the top of her head. She was also wearing that damn dress again, which always did funny things to his heart.

"Freckles?" he whispered.

Now she looked up at him, her face wet with tears. She seemed so completely hopeless and alone, but also accusatory, like he'd done this to her on purpose.

"The wind blew it closed," she said in a shaking voice. "I couldn't get out. I kept calling for you, and banging on the door... But nobody came." Sawyer noticed with horror that blood welled up from underneath her torn fingernails. "You know how long I've been down here?"

He swallowed hard with shame and misery, not knowing what to say. "I couldn't find you."

She contemplated him sadly for a few seconds, wrapping her arms around herself like she was cold. When she spoke, it was so quiet he could barely hear it. "I thought I could trust you."

His sense of guilt was overwhelming. How could this have happened? "You _can_," he said, trying to make her believe it, even though he wasn't even sure if _he _believed it. "Look... I'm sorry, all right? I'll make it up to ya. Promise."

He felt someone tapping him on the shoulder, but he ignored it, focusing only on Kate. Holding out his hand, he said, "Come on outta there."

She stared at his outstretched arm, but didn't move toward it. "I can do it myself," she said. "I don't need your help now. You're too late."

For some reason, these words made him frantic with the desire to show her that she was wrong. The tapping on his shoulder was becoming more insistent, and he tried to shrug it off.

"Just give me your hand," he urged Kate, determined not to look away from her. "Quit being so damn stubborn!"

She gave a slow, heavy sigh and seemed to be considering, possibly relenting. Uncrossing her arms, she stepped forward tentatively and reached out to him. Their fingers just barely brushed against one another.

But now the tapping on his shoulder had become an intrusive shaking, and he gritted his teeth with rage, wanting nothing but to be left alone with her, wanting to pull her out of this cellar and take her upstairs to bed and prove to her that he wasn't too late, that everything was okay, and that he would never, for as long as he lived, let anything like this happen to her again. He would prove it to her until they both collapsed from sheer exhaustion, until they fell asleep in a sweaty tangle of limbs in the dim, warm privacy of their own bedroom. Then later they would wake up and he would prove it to her again. If only they could be _left alone_. In a fury of impatience, he spun around. "_What_?" he shouted, confronting whoever the hell it was that was tugging on him.

A middle-aged man with a sagging beer gut, wearing long underwear, stepped back. "You all right, pal?" he asked. "You're talking in your sleep."

Sawyer blinked heavily, turning his head to look around him. Murky winter daylight flooded the room, illuminating the metal bunk bed he was stretched out on, as well as the identical one across from it on the other wall. He looked ahead of him and saw iron bars and a dark corridor. Another cell across from this one was empty.

The man who had woken him up had by now moved back to the bottom bunk of the other bed and was watching Sawyer, curiously. "Who's Freckles? Your cat?" he asked. Then he paused. "Used to have me a cat named Whiskers."

Sawyer didn't answer him. He was still processing what had happened, trying to leave behind the remnants of the bizarre dream. He knew it was just his own subconscious messing with him, but knowing that didn't make it any easier to shake off the emotional hangover it left him with. And he had more than enough to deal with right now without trying to analyze _nightmares _into the bargain.

"Where am I?" he asked, grimacing as he pulled himself up into a sitting position on the bed.

The man gave him a blank stare. "Well...You're in jail. Hate to be the one to break it to you."

"I know I'm in _jail_," Sawyer muttered in a pissed-off tone. "_Where_?"

Chewing on his lip, the other man considered how to answer this question. "You mean the place? That'd be Whitehorse."

Sawyer squinted, trying to slow the pounding of his head. He pressed his fingers to his temples. "_White Horse_," he repeated with scorn, pronouncing it as two words. "What is that, like some kinda government codename?"

There was another puzzled silence. "Not that I know of. It's just the capital."

"The capital of _what_?" Sawyer urged, impatiently.

"Of Yukon Territory." The man looked at him closer now, as if worried. "Hey, you hit your head or somethin'? I can ask them to get a doctor in here."

Sawyer didn't hear his offer, though. All he heard was _Yukon Territory_, and with those words, a flood of relief washed over him. It probably didn't make any difference, but he felt better knowing that he was still relatively close to her. So at least they hadn't taken him to Langley, or Washington, or wherever the hell these people took you when they arrested you. The last thing he remembered was the fire, and being herded through the dark woods toward a helicopter. He'd resisted, of course, despite the futility of it, and that resistance had earned him a searing, electric pain that coursed through his body, followed by an enveloping blackness. The sons-of-bitches had _tasered _him, he now realized. The current had been strong enough to knock him completely out.

Standing up, he moved toward the small, barred window high in the back wall. He hoisted himself onto the edge of the steel toilet and wiped the condensation from the glass. All he could see was a dazzling brightness outside - the ground and the sky both were a uniform shade of white. It was hard to tell, but he thought it was still snowing. "_Shit_," he said under his breath. He climbed down and turned toward the man sitting on the bed, who was watching him with interest. "What time is it?"

"Little past eleven, I think. You slept through breakfast."

_Eleven_. So how many hours had she been out there alone? He didn't know exactly what time they'd been awakened by the attack, but he didn't think they'd been asleep long. It was so damn hard to be certain this far north, when the sun didn't even come up until almost ten in the morning, and where it was dark by four in the afternoon. With only six hours of daylight, he'd practically given up on trying to keep track over the last week or so, leaving it to Kate to regulate their sleeping and meal times. Now he regretted his lack of attention. He desperately wanted to know how many hours had passed since they'd been separated.

There was a stainless steel sink next to the toilet. He moved over to it and splashed some water on his face, trying to clear his head.

"So what are you in for?" the overweight man asked him, sounding bored.

Sawyer glanced back at him, distractedly. He was in no mood for casual conversation with what was apparently his cellmate. He needed to focus, to come up with some kind of strategy. "_Jaywalking_," he told him with sarcasm.

"Huh," was the confused response he got. "Tough break." The guy reached under his pillow and pulled out a small cellophane package. "Cigarette?" he asked, holding one out.

Sawyer thought about telling him where he could stick his cigarette, but then he changed his mind. What the hell? It might be the last one he had for awhile. He took it, waiting for the moron to light it for him. Then he sank back down on his bed. This all felt depressingly familiar to him. He wouldn't even be able to count the number of nights he'd spent in jail. This time, though, it wasn't going to end with him making bail or being slapped with a minor fine. He was in the big leagues now, and he imagined that this was only a temporary stop on the way to someplace much worse.

"How long ago did they bring me in here?" he asked.

"Can't tell you that," the guy said, blowing out a long stream of smoke. "You were here when I got brought in... 'bout four in the morning." He paused, and when there was no reply, he continued. "Wife called the cops on me. Locked herself in the bathroom before I could get the phone from her."

In spite of his better judgment, Sawyer was intrigued. "Your _wife_?"

"Came home early from a fishing trip and caught her in one of those singles chatrooms on the computer... You know the kind?" He shook his head, repeating with contempt. "_Singles_. We been married fourteen years."

"Why'd she call the cops?" Sawyer asked, not quite understanding how this story added up.

The man looked straight at him, as if he were proud of himself. "Because I broke her arm." He chuckled a little, taking another deep drag. "Let's see her try to type now, huh?"

Sawyer's expression changed to one of weary disgust. The taste of the cigarette suddenly made him feel queasy, and he snuffed it out on the bed rail and pitched it to the floor. All his life, he'd been around people like this. Not wife-beaters in particular, but every variety of human scum - burglars, carjackers, drug dealers, scammers, bookies, embezzlers... the list went on and on. It was his natural element, and he should have felt completely at home with this asshole. Things had changed, though. And he found, to his misfortune, perhaps, that these past few months of respite had likely proved fatal to his ability to meld back into his old habits. He'd let himself fall into the trap of thinking that it was all behind him, some sort of extended adolescence that had lasted into his mid-thirties but was finally coming to an end. But maybe, after all, it wasn't possible to ever truly escape from this kind of life. Maybe his time with Kate had just been a fluke, some deviation from the norm that wouldn't affect the ultimate course of things, like a false remission for a cancer patient before the disease makes its triumphant return. In the back of his mind, he'd always feared that it was temporary. Who had he been kidding, pretending it would last? This was where he belonged.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, along with a jangle of keys. Two people approached the door of the cell - a woman, obviously a Canadian police officer, and a man in a plain black jacket that tried so hard to be inconspicuous it actually stood out. "This one?" the woman asked, indicating Sawyer.

"That's him," the man assented.

She unlocked the cell door and slid it open. The man spoke to Sawyer. "Come on. We got a little meeting set up for you."

"A _meeting_?" Sawyer gave a low, amused scoff. "Sorry, chief...schedule's all filled up for today. Why don't you talk to my receptionist over here and I'll see if I can't squeeze you in for next week."

The man came into the cell and walked toward him with a smile of infinite patience. "_Get up_."

Sawyer's gaze traveled to his hands, where he gripped some kind of stun gun. Although there was a small part of him that actually craved it, that actually _needed _to feel the pain that would knock him to the floor, he knew that now wasn't the time. Glaring at the man the whole time, he slowly pulled himself to his feet. The agent gripped his arm and started to lead him toward the door. At least they weren't cuffing him again.

"Hey, why's he get to go somewhere?" his cellmate whined from the bed.

Sawyer turned his head back to look at the guy as he was being pulled into the corridor. Smirking, he told him, "Because I got a date with your wife."

They led him down the hall and around a corner, then the woman swiped a card through a machine and opened a heavy glass door. He was unceremoniously shoved inside by the man in the black jacket with the words "Let me know when you're through with him," and then the door closed behind him. There were several large windows in here, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust enough to allow him to examine the bright interior.

"Come on in and have a seat, Mr. Ford."

He turned his attention to the table in the center of the room, trying to make out who was speaking to him, and then tilted his head back in wry, weary acknowledgment. _Of course_. Of course it was them. The same bastards who'd surprised him in his yard that morning, shattering their first fragile prism of safety and setting them off on their disastrous trek across the continent. Why would he have expected anybody else? Callahan, and... what was the other one's name? He couldn't remember it. Not that it mattered much.

There was no real point in resisting here. So he moved toward the table and pulled out a chair, dropping himself into it.

Callahan spoke first. "I'm sure you remember my partner, Agent Reed."

_Reed_. That was it. The guy even looked like a reed, thin and insubstantial.

"Long time no see, boys," Sawyer said in a relaxed tone. "Although I gotta say, if you wanted to hang out again, you didn't have to be so damn pushy about it." He raised his eyebrows. "Comes off as a little desperate, if you want to know the truth."

They both looked as though they were steeling themselves, preparing to keep their tempers in check in order to be able to deal with him.

"How've you been?" Reed asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Can't complain," Sawyer said, deciding to play along. If they wanted to waste their time pretending to be polite, that was their business. "How 'bout yourselves?"

"Not so good, as it turns out, Mr. Ford," Callahan answered. "We've had a difficult few months. I'm sure you recall the last time we spoke?"

"Vaguely." He recalled almost every detail, of course.

"Then you'll remember that we were searching for a woman named Katherine Austen. A woman we believed you to be concealing on your property in Tennessee... though you insisted that wasn't the case. And since your attitude seemed a bit suspicious to us, we came back that afternoon to investigate further, only to find that you'd disappeared." He paused, fiddling with a pen and not taking his eyes off Sawyer. "When we dusted the house, we discovered Ms. Austen's prints on just about every surface, in every room. So... when you said you hadn't seen her, that wasn't quite the truth, now, was it?"

Sawyer smiled a little. "Depends on what you mean by _truth_." He considered asking why they'd bothered to dust the entire house when they only needed one set of fingerprints to prove she'd been there, but he decided they already looked incompetent enough without any help from him.

"Couple weeks later, we picked up an anonymous tip from some gas station cashier in Iowa... thought he recognized their local celebrity. That was a brilliant idea, by the way," Callahan added. "Going back to her old hometown. The one place in the country where everyone knows exactly what she looks like. Then again," he said heavy irony, "Ms. Austen hasn't exactly earned herself a reputation for her... _strategic intelligence _during the years she's been on the run. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was a natural blonde underneath all that dark hair."

Agent Reed chuckled at his older partner's joke in a patently ass-kissing manner.

Sawyer felt the first dull stirrings of anger deep within him. They were baiting him, he knew. He would have to step carefully if he hoped to keep any kind of upper hand in the conversation. "Well, for such a _dumb blonde_, she hasn't done a bad job of keepin' y'all on your toes, has she, Inspector Gadget?" he asked. "Unless you keep lettin' her get away just for the fun of it."

"She's been lucky. But luck doesn't last forever, does it, Mr. Ford?" Callahan paused, enjoying this, and then went on with his narrative. "As I'm sure you know, we discovered your abandoned vehicle outside of some rinky-dink carnival near Des Moines. We had a hunch that you might be heading for the Canadian border, so we kept a sharp eye out for any suspicious activity up there, monitored everything that came in. And what do you think we got wind of just a few days ago?" He stopped and waited for some kind of reaction.

"I'm on the edge of my seat," Sawyer said dryly.

"A car accident. To be more specific, an accident involving a recreational vehicle... on a little-used gravel road up in the Yukon wilderness, of all places. But the most interesting thing to us was the name of the woman involved in this accident - _Margaret Ford_."

"No shit," Sawyer said in mock surprise. "The president's wife?"

Agent Reed let out a snort of laughter, and then clammed up guiltily when Callahan shot him a glare. To rectify the situation, Reed said condescendingly, "That was _Betty _Ford."

"He _knows that_," Callahan said, still annoyed. Sighing in frustration, he turned back to Sawyer. "You want to tell us who Margaret Ford really is?"

Sawyer didn't want to talk about Meg. He still hadn't truly allowed himself to think about what had happened to her. But he had a feeling she would have been disappointed in him if he didn't come up with something to waste a little more of this jerk-off's time.

"Hell if I know who she really was. Just some crazy old lady who used to claim she was related to me... couldn't shake her. Guess she musta been after the family jewels."

Callahan was less than amused. "Margaret Ford was your aunt - married to your father's younger brother. One of the only living relatives you had left, in fact. So of course, we became a bit suspicious when we were notified of an accident that involved her, so far north, where she had no business being this time of year. It wasn't too hard to figure out that she might be offering her assistance to someone on the run... someone like yourself. And I suppose you can imagine what a windfall of evidence we found when the contents of the wreckage were examined. _Photographic _evidence, even. You sure made it easy for us, didn't you?"

"What, that girl I was with in those pictures?" Sawyer asked, knowing there was no point in this but enjoying himself anyway. "Hitchhiker. Prostitute named Violet." He leaned in a little, confidentially. "I can hook you two up, if you want. She only charges by the minute." With a coy smirk, he added, "Somethin' tells me you wouldn't end up with much of a bill."

Callahan gave him a tiny smile, unruffled. He slid a file folder over to Sawyer from the corner of the table, then opened the flap that covered it.

Sawyer stared down at the picture on the top of the pile, the expression on his face changing almost imperceptibly. All his attempts at glibness left him when he was confronted with an actual image of Kate. He tried to remain stoic, however, not wanting them to see how much it affected him. His features hardened and his jaw muscles clenched with the effort.

The photograph that he looked at was one that he'd never seen before. _Meg and her goddamn camera_, he thought with irritation. This was one of the series that had been taken when the two of them weren't looking. He recalled the day clearly, and knew exactly what was going on in the scene. They were in a booth of a cheap Italian restaurant, somewhere in Alberta. For reasons unknown to him, Kate had ordered some kind of soup that neither one of them could pronounce, convinced she wanted to throw caution to the winds and try something new. When the waiter had finally brought the stuff out, Sawyer wasn't surprised to find that just the smell of it made her nauseous. He'd tried not to gloat, but it was hard. She'd had some crazy notion that it would be rude to the restaurant staff to leave the soup untouched, and so she'd tried to convince _him _to eat it, a plan he'd been dead-set against. In the picture that he looked down at now, she was laughing and attempting to raise a spoon toward his mouth, coaxingly, and he gripped her wrist in protest to push her away, though he still looked like he was enjoying the hell out of himself. Meg must have snapped it on her way out of the bathroom.

Sawyer swallowed hard, wishing he hadn't seen this. There was nothing particularly special about the picture itself, but it was that very normalcy that saddened him most. And it of course triggered memories of how the rest of the day had gone, of how good it had been. Their horseplay had gotten a little out of hand, and about half the bowl of soup had spilled into Kate's lap, which she'd predictably blamed him for. Since it was her last clean pair of jeans, Meg had dropped the two of them off at a laundromat while she went shopping. With all Kate's pants in the wash, she'd been forced to wear a pair of Sawyer's boxer shorts while they waited for the clothes to dry. She'd looked so damn adorable in his boxers that he couldn't concentrate on anything else, and he'd eventually managed to get them off of her, after which they'd proceeded to make themselves completely at home on a row of plastic chairs behind the laundry carts. Luckily, the place had been empty except for them. Otherwise they probably would have been asked never to return to the province of Alberta.

Now, sitting here in this jail, after everything had gone so disastrously wrong, he wondered how they could have been so stupid, so carefree and unconcerned. Not that they'd ever had a chance to remain that way for long, obviously. Something had always happened to yank them back into the harsh reality of their actual lives. But still... From this vantage point, it was hard to believe that they'd ever allowed themselves any uncomplicated happiness at all. How had they let themselves slip into that delusion, that farce of acting like they were normal people? He blamed himself for it. He was the one always trying to distract her, always trying to convince her that things weren't as bad as they really were. It wasn't for himself that he did it. He knew that he deserved to suffer, and he'd never tried to convince himself otherwise. But _she _didn't deserve to. At least not the way he did. And this was all his fault. She was out there right now somewhere, alone, and it was all his fault.

He finally looked up to find the two FBI agents watching him closely. His attitude toward the photograph seemed to have assured them of something, and he was pissed at himself for giving it away.

"What the hell do you want from me?" he asked in a low, bitter voice. He was tired of playing games, and he no longer had the heart to screw with them.

Reed glanced at Callahan, waiting for him to speak. Cracking his knuckles, he finally did, leaning forward intently. "Did you send her out ahead of you last night, son? Hmm? Was that part of your plan... to send her off in a different direction and then try to distract us while she made her getaway?"

Sawyer didn't say anything. His only response was to close the top of the file folder and slide it back toward them, watching them with sinister patience. Let them think whatever they wanted.

Callahan continued. "What are you two doing up here in the Yukon? Where were you headed?"

"We weren't _headed _anywhere," he answered now in a savage tone, determined to at least keep their destination secret, even though it didn't seem to make any difference at this point. "We were just tryin' to get the hell outta Dodge... lookin' for someplace to hide out. Ain't it obvious?"

"What's _obvious _to me, Mr. Ford, is that you don't seem to be aware of how serious this situation is. If what you're telling me is true... which I don't believe it is, by the way," he added as an aside. "Then you sent your little girlfriend out into the middle of an Arctic blizzard without any idea of where she'd end up, or how she's even going to survive. Now, either you're not telling me something important here, or you just never liked her that much to begin with. Either way, it doesn't look good for her."

"She can take care of herself," Sawyer said, fiercely proud of the fact that this was actually true. It didn't mean he wasn't worried about her, or that he would ever be rid of his own overwhelming need to protect her, but he at least knew that if she had to look out for herself, she was capable of it. He only hoped she wouldn't have to get too used to doing it on her own, this time around.

"Well, I hope for her sake that that's the case. Because let me tell you something." Callahan raised his eyebrows and spoke more slowly, enjoying this. "Up north here right now? I've been told they're experiencing something of a _winter heat wave_, if you will. Temperatures have been much higher than normal... not even far below the freezing mark. I guess you can thank global warming for that. But there's no guarantee it'll last. And once it breaks?" He snapped his fingers for effect. "Those temps can plunge about twenty, thirty degrees within a matter of hours. So if that happens while she's still out there... Well." He smiled. "I guess I don't really need to go into details, do I?"

Sawyer maintained a sullen silence, not giving them anything to work with. Hearing all this made him inwardly miserable with concern for Kate, but they were most likely exaggerating in order to scare him. He clung to the hope that they were.

Callahan watched him for a few seconds, thoughtfully. "You know, there's a plane not too far from here, Mr. Ford... a plane ready to transport you to a federal prison in Tennessee, which is where you'll be held until we decide what to do with you. The only thing that's keeping it from leaving is the weather... Otherwise you'd already be halfway there. These lovely Canadians were nice enough to let us borrow their jail for a little bit. But as soon as that runway's cleared, there's no reason for us to keep you here. Unless, of course," he added meaningfully, "You _give us_ a reason."

Sawyer looked up at them. "Sorry, boys... I don't swing that way," he said with false regret.

Working hard to keep his patience, Callahan now tried a different approach, speaking in a deliberately simple, intimate tone, leaving long pauses between each phrase. "You want to see her again? I imagine you do, don't you? I imagine you'd like to find her, sweep her off her feet, play the big hero... No surprise there. What would you say if I told you we can help you do just that?"

He didn't say anything. He only waited, listening closely but not at all hopeful.

"Because I've got a feeling that out of all the people out there searching for her, you'd have the best luck finding her. Don't you agree? You must know her pretty well by now, after all your time together. You know which way she'd probably go, where she'd be most likely to turn up... All those details that are currently giving our agents one big collective headache."

Sawyer gave a silent, humorless laugh. "Ah... I see where you're going with this. You want to use me as _bait_, is that it?" he asked contemptuously, his eyes shining with hatred. "You send me out there like a worm on a hook and wait till she bites... Then you can reel us both in at the same time and pretend you did all the work. That sound about right?"

Callahan glanced over at Reed, both a bit annoyed that he'd caught on to their intentions so quickly. "In return for your cooperation, of course, we'd be prepared to make things much easier for you. For her as well."

He found this empty promise almost funny. "Like _hell _you would. You really think I'm gonna fall for that?" It was unbelievable to him that they were even bothering with this angle. Did they have any idea who they were dealing with? Or did they honestly believe they could con a con-man?

The agents were quiet for a minute, staring at him thoughtfully. "Does the name Norman Rosenberg mean anything to you, Mr. Ford?" Callahan finally asked.

Caught off guard by the quick change in subject, at first it truly _didn't _mean anything to him. It took a few seconds for him to associate the name with the person, and then he regrouped and realized who they were referring to. He waited warily, not committing himself yet by giving an answer.

"I see it rings a bell," Callahan went on, nodding. "Interesting coincidence about Mr. Rosenberg. A couple of fishermen discovered his body in the lake that borders your property, only a week or so after you hit the road."

Sawyer closed his eyes and suppressed a groan of frustration. Meg had already told him about seeing this on the news, but he'd forgotten about it. Why was it always the damn fishermen who found the dead bodies? Didn't they ever just catch _fish _anymore?

"Obviously, the first stages of decomposition had already begun to take place, but not to the point where it was impossible to determine a cause of death. And according to forensic evidence, the cause of death was a close-range gunshot wound to the head." He pressed his fingertips together in a meditative manner, and then glanced up at Sawyer, almost casually. "So I guess my question is, why'd you kill him?"

Glaring back at his interrogator, Sawyer's need to defend himself overcame his better judgment, and before he could stop himself, he'd blurted out indignantly, "I _didn't _kill him."

Callahan angled his chin up a bit, as if intrigued. "Hm," he said. "Okay, then. Why'd _she _kill him?"

Sawyer gritted his teeth together, regretting having said anything. But now that he'd started digging himself into a hole, he couldn't let Kate fall into it with him. She already had enough on her record without false accusations of murder. He decided that since he'd come this far, he might as well just tell them the truth. There didn't seem to be anything left to lose.

"Neither one of us had nothin' to do with it. The son-of-a-bitch killed _himself_, all right?"

Reed spoke now, clearly amused. "And why would he need to come all the way to Tennessee, just to commit suicide?"

Sawyer turned on him, directing some of his pent-up rage toward the ineffectual rookie agent. "What the hell are you even _here for_, Barney Fife? Why don't you go get us a coffee or somethin', and make yourself useful," he sneered.

"Why don't you answer his question?" Callahan asked, defending his partner for once.

Looking away for a second, Sawyer let out his breath in a slow exhalation, pissed at getting himself into this. Now he would have to tell the whole story. Reluctantly, he began, speaking in a grudging tone. "Couple years back, I slept with the guy's wife. Scammed 'em out of some money... not _much_, but more than they could afford to lose, as it turns out. And when their marriage hit the rocks, she got the last word by drivin' herself off a bridge. Then the genius decides that if he can track me down and kill me, well... then his life'll be all peachy-keen again. Only thing is, when he finally _gets _there, he doesn't have the balls to go through with it. So he blows his brains out in my living room and leaves me with the mess." He stopped abruptly, glad to be done with the story.

Callahan waited. "That all?"

Sawyer gave him a funny look, as if wondering what more they wanted. "He also killed my dog. You want to know how?"

"Then if you two had nothing to do with Mr. Rosenberg's death, why did you dump his body in the lake?"

"Because it was _handy_," he replied with loaded sarcasm. He was tired of this conversation. And he didn't understand why they were wasting their time asking about all this when their primary objective should ostensibly be finding Kate. What did this have to do with anything?

His confusion was cleared up, however, by Agent Callahan's next words. Then he understood, all too well, what was going on here.

"You know, in some ways, Mr. Ford, you're very lucky. Because, as it happens, the forensic analysis _did _seem to indicate the possibility of a self-inflicted gunshot wound." He paused, giving Sawyer a meaningful look, then lowering his voice. "But when we're dealing with this type of evidence, of course, things are always a little tricky. So hard to be sure, you know? In fact, you could almost say that it really all depends on... _interpretation_."

Sawyer tilted his head back a bit, the realization sinking in slowly. _Blackmail_. They were going to try to blackmail him into helping them find her. Now he felt like an idiot for not having seen it immediately.

Callahan continued, driving home his point. "It's highly probable that a prosecutor would have a very hard time proving that this death was anything other than a clear-cut suicide. Then again, it's also possible that it could seem to be a clear-cut murder. I guess, in a way, it's up to you to decide."

It suddenly occurred to Sawyer, in a flash of insight, that this was apparently the best thing they had to use against him. It didn't take much to see that they were desperate, and they weren't about to hold anything back if they thought it would help. With this sorry-ass blackmail attempt, they were putting all their cards on the table. And what that told him was that they didn't know about any of the other crimes he'd been responsible for over the past few months. They didn't know about the man he'd mistakenly shot in Australia, which didn't really surprise him. He'd been very careful there. But they didn't know about the death of Jason in Indiana, either. Maybe the guy hadn't been carrying identification, or if he had, they hadn't managed to link him back to Kate yet. Hell, they apparently didn't even know about the con on Gloria Winchester in Illinois. Maybe they hadn't left as much of a trail on the way up to Canada as he'd thought. And in that case, there was still a chance. He felt the first faint stirrings of hope deep within himself, along with a growing determination not to give up. Maybe, after all, he wouldn't have to accept the fact that he would never see her again. He'd never been an optimist, but there was a first time for everything.

With an unimpressed, smart-ass demeanor, he now looked straight at Callahan and asked him quietly, "Is that all you got?"

Now the older man had to work to control his rising frustration. He blinked rapidly a few times, looking slightly unnerved, then cleared his throat and leaned forward to rest his arms on the table again. When he spoke, his voice was low and threatening. "I'd advise you to consider your options here before you make any hasty decisions. As it stands now, all you're really guilty of is aiding and abetting a known fugitive. And if you go with the romance angle... well, juries love that kind of stuff, don't they? But murder... Now, that's a different story. You really want to throw your life in the crapper for some girl who's probably just using you anyway? It isn't like she's never done this before." He waited a second, letting his words sink in. "So what do you say we work out some sort of arrangement here?"

"I say..." Sawyer responded with an icy, undaunted smile. "_Go to hell_."

The two agents glanced at one another, conspiratorially, in a not-very-convincing attempt to pretend they still had the upper hand here. Callahan spoke again with a tone of finality. "The bottom line, son, is that we're going to find her, with or without your help. That's a given. But you can do yourself a world of good here by being a team player. You're not helping anybody by refusing to cooperate."

_Bullshit_, he thought to himself. If they really thought that finding her was a _given_, then they wouldn't need him in here to begin with. He watched them, feeling himself somehow triumphant. "You ain't gonna find her," he said, barely above a whisper, taunting them. "And you already know it."

Callahan watched him for a few more seconds, then managed a weak smile. "I can see you need some more time to think this over." He directed a quick nodding gesture toward the interior windows on the hallway behind Sawyer. "We'll talk again later."

Hearing the door open, Sawyer glanced up to see the man who'd led him in earlier. He felt a tug on his elbow, so he rose to his feet, keeping his gaze on the seated agents, cocky in what he perceived to be his victory. "Lookin' forward to it."

As he was led into the hall, he resolved to himself that he would find her. Not for them, obviously. Not the way they wanted him to do it. But somehow... some way, he would manage to find her again, and as soon as possible. Maybe he could turn their own plan of blackmail against them. Or maybe he'd have to take the more time-consuming route, going through the trial and all that it would entail. It didn't matter. He would hire the sleaziest, slimiest, most bottom-feeding lawyer on the planet if it would help him out. He would lie, he would con, he would bribe people - he would do whatever it took. What had earlier seemed impossible would now become his driving goal in life. Because, after what these past few months had given him, he wasn't prepared to face a future without her. He was greedy - he'd never claimed that he wasn't - and he wanted more. He needed more. He needed her to be with him in the same way he needed his legs, or the air in his lungs. And if she needed him even _half _as much as he needed her, then he had to find some way to get back to her. These poor bastards didn't stand a chance against the strength of his determination.

No matter what it took, he would get back to her.

* * *

Kate watched the ground as her feet disappeared and reappeared, disappeared and reappeared, crunching in and out of the snow, over and over again. She'd found it was the easiest way to keep moving, to concentrate on each step, pushing her body forward in a relentless, robotic manner without allowing her mind to wander from the safe perimeters she'd assigned it. She mentally counted off her steps by fours, reciting the numbers to herself like a marching cadence. This kept her conscious mind from straying onto anything meaningful, allowing her to stay in a sort of trance state where the events of the past night couldn't reach her. Above all else, she couldn't allow herself to think about Sawyer, or where he might be right now, or what was going to happen to him. Every time her thoughts started to take that course, she veered away as fast as she could. She couldn't confront it now, while she still needed all her energy to avoid being caught.

It was light now, finally - though she barely noticed. A small, nagging voice told her that she should probably stop, that she needed to rest and take cover until it was dark again. It wasn't a good idea to be out here during the daylight hours. It made her an easy target. But she'd gotten into such a rhythmic pattern of forward motion that it wasn't easy to switch gears. Even something as simple as the decision to slow down was more than she felt capable of dealing with right now. If he'd been there, he would have made her stop. _But he isn't here_, she told herself fiercely. _Think about something else_.

For the first few hours, she'd moved forward at a blind, staggering pace. Other than the illumination from the snow, there had been no light at all. It hadn't made any difference, though. Her instinct to run kept her going, whether she could see what she was running toward or not. She'd stumbled along, groping for trees or empty air, making her way from one to the other. After awhile, she'd heard the low, vibrating rumble of approaching helicopters. The search lights had come dangerously close to her, and she'd pressed herself into the trunks of trees, trying to flatten her body into a mere shadow of itself, not breathing, not moving, her eyes squeezed shut with fear. When it had begun to snow harder again, the helicopters had disappeared, and she hadn't heard another one since. She knew they would be back, though. They wouldn't give up that easily.

At first, the ankle that she'd landed on while jumping from the roof of the ranger station had sent stabbing pains through her leg and foot, increasing with every step. She'd been forced to ignore it, and within an hour or so, the snow she waded through had apparently numbed it enough so that it now kept up only a dull, throbbing ache. She knew it was probably a sprain and that she shouldn't be walking on it, but it made no difference. Even if it meant doing permanent damage, she had no choice. She had to keep going.

Although the snow was difficult to travel through and slowed her down, the temperature itself wasn't as much of a problem as she'd feared it might be. Her best estimate was that it was right around the freezing mark, maybe a few degrees below, but nothing unendurable. The terrain she was covering now was a gentle upward slope of thickly forested spruce. She still headed northwest, the direction they'd intended to go, but that was more of an accident than anything else. It was simply the angle she'd been facing when she'd started running. There was nothing planned about it, and she really had no idea where she would end up. All she wanted was to put as much distance between herself and the smoldering ruins of the ranger's station as possible. After that, maybe she would be capable of figuring something out. But not yet.

The ground was gradually becoming more rocky and steep, and she had to exert herself, leaning forward to force her body to keep moving. With her breathing becoming labored, she felt her ankle threatening to give out. One wrong step was all it took for it to finally happen, and she landed on her left knee, hard, her hands sinking into the snow to break her fall as she gasped in pain. She closed her eyes for a second and tried to catch her breath, then stared down at the sparkling crystals of ice just below her, concentrating on not falling apart. She would have to keep her wits about her, somehow, if she hoped to make it through this. There was nobody to help her now.

Brushing her hair out of her eyes with numb fingers, she settled back into a kneeling position and looked around, seeking out anything that could serve as some kind of temporary shelter. There were no caves or rock ledges anywhere within view - nothing but forest, stretching endlessly into the distance. The only thing that seemed to offer even a slight possibility of cover was a tangle of downed trees off to her right, just on the edge of her field of vision. It would only work, of course, if some animal hadn't already laid claim to it. But it was worth the risk. She had to rest.

With a supreme effort, she pulled herself back to her feet, careful to distribute her weight mostly on her right leg. Limping now, she moved toward the deadfall. It turned out to be even farther than she'd anticipated, and she had to go down into a slight gully and then back up an incline in order to get there. By the time she finally reached it, she was exhausted and out of breath.

Up close, she was glad to see that she'd been right; it would make a decent shelter, at least for the few hours of daylight remaining. A cluster of huge trees had fallen against each other, forming a tangle of trunks and branches. Underneath, there was a hollowed-out area toward the center, protected from the elements. Kate lowered herself to the ground and crawled in tentatively. There didn't appear to be any occupants of the four-legged variety, much to her relief.

Reaching the deepest part of the shelter on her hands and knees, she turned around and settled herself, leaning back against a section of trunk to rest. Under her was a carpet of dry spruce needles, mercifully free of snow. She sat unmoving for a few minutes, catching her breath. Pale light filtered in here, and looking up, she could see patches of white sky through the dense cover of branches. For the first time since she'd started running in the early hours of the morning, she felt a small measure of safety.

But the profound silence soon began to get to her, quickly becoming unbearable. The steady crunching of her steps through the snow had provided at least a minor form of company. Now that her body was still, there was absolutely no sound at all. She felt it as a sort of buzzing in her ears. It was a little like being buried alive, cut off from the world of the living with no hope of return. She rested her head on her knees, straining to hear something through the immense death-like silence. Her heart rate, which had begun to slow, started to speed up again, and she felt prickles of cold sweat forming on her body. She rocked back and forth slightly, her arms wrapped around her legs, fighting off encroaching panic. She told herself she was being ridiculous, and that she was stronger than this. If only she could have heard his voice, just for a few seconds. She would have listened to him say anything - a string of curses, a litany of complaints about the weather, an inappropriate sexual innuendo, an annoying new nickname... anything at all. She just craved the sound of his voice. _Oh, God, would she ever hear him call her Freckles again? _

This silence was going to break her. For the first time in her life, she wished that she was religious, that she had something to believe in. But she never had. It wasn't a matter of losing her faith; she just hadn't had any to begin with. It was only in these past few months that she'd let herself start to feel the faint possibility that there was some larger good, beyond what she had direct experience of - that there was such a thing as grace in the world, and that she might be able to claim a small part of it for herself before she stopped existing. But ideas like these had been so rare and sporadic that they'd never attained any kind of permanent hold on her, had never been capable of breaking through the more prominent darkness that kept them hidden, deep within her heart. And now, of course, all hope was shattered. She saw that she'd been right to begin with. It was her fate to suffer.

She raised her head abruptly, desperate not to let herself succumb to this. She needed a distraction. Now that she was off her feet and out of the snow, the pain in her ankle was beginning to worsen again, and she decided to see how bad it was and if there was anything that could be done for it. At least it would give her something to focus on, allowing her to keep despair at bay for a little longer. Stretching her left leg out in front of her, she untied her shoe and loosened the laces, then carefully worked it off of her foot. She was lucky that her shoes were well-made, with thick soles and a heavy protective outer covering. Her sock was only wet in patches, and she peeled it off, trying not to press too hard on the skin. Then she rolled the cuff of her pants up, almost afraid to look.

It was worse than she'd expected, but probably not as bad as it could have been, considering that she'd jumped off a roof. The entire ankle was swollen and purple, with dark patches radiating outward across her foot all the way to her toes. _Damn it_. Like she didn't already have enough to deal with? She bit her lip hard, trying to think of what to do next. It needed to be wrapped, she assumed. Wasn't that what you did for a sprain? It sounded right. In any case, the only way it would be able to support her weight was if she bound it tightly with cloth - tight enough to keep it from collapsing under her. What could she use, though? She couldn't possibly spare any of the clothes she was wearing, not in this weather. Her bra might have worked, but it had been missing last night when she'd gotten dressed after washing again. She had a feeling Sawyer had hidden it somewhere, which he liked to do sometimes, along with her underwear. He enjoyed watching her look for them. It was like his own twisted version of an Easter egg hunt. She pushed the memories away, forcefully.

What else would work? The extra sweatshirt she'd been carrying around - the one with the University of Tennessee logo on the front - had also been left behind in the ranger's station. The canvas of her backpack would probably be too thick to use for wrapping material, and she didn't have anything to cut it with anyway. Sawyer had the knife with him. Or at least he _had_. It had probably been confiscated by now, along with the gun. Again, she tried to redirect her mind onto a different course.

Leaning forward a little, she pulled the backpack from her shoulders and dragged it around to her lap. Maybe there was something in it she could use. She didn't think there was, but it was worth a shot. At least it gave her something to focus her attention on. She pulled the flap open and peered inside. On top, where she'd stuck it yesterday, was the map of the area - the one Sawyer had been so determined to save from the fire. She laid it aside, sadly. Later, she might need to use it in order to figure out where she was and how to get back to civilization. But right now, she didn't want to have to unroll the paper and look at the spot marked as the preserve, that idealized, elusive place that they'd come so close to reaching. It would be better to never think of it again.

Next she pulled out a bulging envelope - the remainder of the money from the con, everything that she hadn't been able to fit into the lining of Sawyer's coat. If she remembered correctly, there was close to twenty thousand here. She didn't have the heart to count it right now. But despite her misery, she still retained enough hard-headed practicality to be grateful for the fact that she had it. It would be absolutely necessary, if she hoped to survive on her own again. If she was careful, she could make it last for awhile. And she would _have _to be careful. Nobody was going to try to take care of her against her will anymore.

Laying it next to the map, she looked inside the backpack again. All that was left was the road atlas, that compendium of geographical information that had assumed almost Biblical status for her during the early stages of their journey. She'd thought they were done with it, but now she would probably need it again if she hoped to keep running. She would have to make her way back down south, eventually. It would be too painful to stay in Canada. She needed something completely different, something that wouldn't remind her of this ill-fated flight. Southern California, maybe, or the desert. Someplace warm. She would lose herself in a big city, change her hair color, get some fake I.D. Then she would have to find an adoption agency - one that wouldn't ask too many questions. She wouldn't terminate the pregnancy now, not after she'd already struggled with the decision and made her choice. But she couldn't keep the baby, either. Not on her own. She knew she couldn't do it on her own.

Struggling against tears, she reached in to pull the atlas out from where it was flattened against the bottom of the backpack. She could at least flip through it to distract herself until she fell asleep. Lifting it, she felt something soft underneath, pressed into the very bottom of the bag. Confused, she moved the book of maps aside, wondering what else could be in here. Her hand closed around cloth, and she tugged, pulling it out into the light. At first, she didn't know what she was looking at - it had been so long since she'd laid eyes on it. She held it out in front of her, letting it hang down against the dull glow of the winter daylight. Then, with a sense of sad foreboding, she recognized the sheer, almost see-through cotton material, the light patterning of flowers, the slim, flowing, old-fashioned shape of it.

It was the dress. The one that had belonged to Sawyer's grandmother, during the thirties. The one that she'd put on with amused resignation in his attic, because there wasn't anything else. The one she'd been wearing the first night they'd made love, when he'd tried so fumblingly to get it off of her, finally accepting her help. Now she recalled packing it in a hurry, that autumn morning when they'd left the house. She'd been a little embarrassed about displaying sentiment toward an item of clothing, so she'd crammed it down into the backpack, hoping Sawyer wouldn't notice. After that, she'd completely forgotten about it, and it had been in here ever since, traveling with them the entire way, undetected and unremembered.

Kate realized, with a feeling akin to disbelief, that it was the only thing she had left from the house. Aside from the tiny life growing inside her, it was the only tangible thing that remained after all their time together - a flimsy, faded scrap of cloth which still gave off a vague odor of mothballs, despite how often it had been washed. And seeing it out here where she was so lonely and unprotected, with all the memories it brought in its wake, was too much. She felt her heart breaking, the floodgates of her emotions giving way under the onslaught of all the thoughts she'd been trying to hold back since she'd left him behind, kneeling in the snow in handcuffs while their last futile attempt at shelter burned to the ground. All of a sudden she missed him so much that she couldn't breathe. Lowering her face into the fabric of the dress, she finally broke down into bitter, choking sobs.

Why had this had to happen? _Why_? And how was she supposed to get through this, without him? She'd been on her own before, more times than she could count, but this was different, somehow. She felt more alone than she'd ever felt in her entire life, and she knew the feeling wouldn't go away when she was out of the wilderness, back around other people, in a normal place again. It might never go away. Oh, _God_, what had they done to each other, letting their lives become so entangled, so hopelessly co-dependent, in such a short amount of time? It was madness that they'd allowed themselves to walk into that trap, knowing how it could end. She blamed herself. It was what she'd feared from the beginning, and why she'd tried so hard not to fall for him, not to let herself become involved with anybody. But she _had _let herself, and this was all her fault. He was out there somewhere right now, locked up, and it was all her fault. Because she was poison. She was poison to anybody who made the mistake of loving her, and now Sawyer would become just the latest in the series of lives she'd already destroyed.

She thought about where he might be at this exact moment, who he was with, what was being done to him. The possibilities filled her with terror. He was so stubborn, so difficult, so completely unwilling to give in to anything. She knew they would hurt him. And if he ended up in prison, he would probably get himself killed. The knowledge that there was nothing she could do about it, that there was no way she could help him, was torture. In all likelihood, she would never see him again.

She let herself cry for a little longer. But then she knew she had to stop. Allowing herself to dissolve like this was a luxury she couldn't afford yet, not when she wasn't even certain that she would make it through this herself. Besides, she didn't really have the energy for it, anyway. She'd barely slept at all last night, and she still needed to wrap her ankle before she could rest here. Though it pained her to do it, she knew she would have to use the dress. It was the only extra fabric she had.

Raising her head up, she wiped her face on the cloth, getting the last sniffles under control as she tried to focus her mind on the next step. The snow had stopped, she noticed. When it got dark in a few hours, she would start walking again. She would find a stick large enough to lean on, to take some of the pressure off her left foot. She would walk until she couldn't go any further, then she would rest again. She would keep doing this until she either reached safety, was caught, or died from cold and hunger. It was all she could do. It was what he would want her to do.

She gripped the dress at the collar, saying in a soft voice, "_I'm sorry_." She didn't know who she was apologizing to - whether it was to the baby who would have to belong to someone else now, to Sawyer, wherever he was, or even to the stupid dress itself, the symbol of everything they'd once had for that brief, perfect interval in Tennessee... the symbol of everything they'd never have again. It had been too good to last, anyway. In the back of her mind she'd always known it. For people like them, nothing good ever lasted. Why wasn't she used to it by now?

Closing her eyes tightly, she took a deep, fortifying breath. Then she began to rip the fabric into strips.


	32. Chapter 32

I think I forgot to mention this at this site, but I know some people were asking about it before... This fic is going to be 40 chapters, in order to match In Hiding (because I'm weird about things being even like that). I'll be updating once a week till the last week of September (probably on Thursdays most of the time) in order to finish it up before the Season 3 premiere of Lost. Then, if I do a third part, it'll start during the Lost hiatus, after the first six-week "mini-season" of episodes.

As I said on L-F, after this chapter, you might just barely begin to glimpse the light at the end of the tunnel (although it might not seem like it.) But look closely - it's there!

For what seems like the hundredth time (though I never mean it any less, no matter how many times I say it) thank you for reviewing.

* * *

**Chapter 32**

There was a moon tonight. As evening fell, the snow clouds drifted away, leaving the sky clear and frigid. The light that now filtered down was white and hard and cold, colder than it seemed possible for light to be. But still, it was better than suffocating darkness. Kate had never been so glad to see the moon in her life.

She wasn't sure exactly how long she'd been walking, this time around. A few hours, probably. It seemed like longer. Even under normal circumstances, the foot of snow on the ground would have slowed her pace. But her sprained ankle cut her speed in half, and even with the tight wrapping that bound it and the stick she leaned on for support, it was rough going. It didn't help that her path alternated between steep uphill and downhill courses, and was rarely level. She knew she was getting closer to the mountain range that bordered the preserve, but at the rate she walked, she didn't know if she would ever reach it.

The decision to continue north, towards their original destination, hadn't been an easy one. Her strongest instincts urged her to go back south, immediately. The sooner she could get out of this region of the world, the sooner she could forget, and move on. There was no sense in delaying it. It was her old familiar craving to escape, to cover great distances, to start over somewhere new. She'd been so convinced that it was one desire she'd never have to contend with again. And maybe she wouldn't have, if they'd reached their safe haven and had been able to make a home there, like they'd so desperately wished for. But everything was different now. Only not _different_, really, because it was the same as it had always been. It was simply a return to what was normal for her.

Despite the strength of her urge to go south, though, a close scrutiny of the map had convinced her that it was out of the question. She and Sawyer had come much farther than she'd thought over the past few days. She was impressed to see that in two and a half days of constant walking, they'd covered nearly forty miles from the site of the RV accident to the ranger's station. There was no way she could hope to retrace their course - not in this weather, in her condition, and completely on her own. It would probably take her a week to get back to the same spot, and even assuming she could find the road again, that wouldn't ensure safety. They'd been driving for an entire day without seeing any signs of civilization, at least until Paul appeared behind them. Besides, she'd been fleeing the authorities long enough to know that they would probably expect her to head back south. That's where they would concentrate their energies on searching. As crazy as it seemed, it would be safer for her to do the exact opposite - to head even deeper into the dense wilderness.

Her tentative plan was to continue on to the preserve and introduce herself, explaining who she was and what had happened to Meg, and then to ask for help. There were really no other options, out here. Already, she dreaded having to put herself in a position of dependence on someone else, dreaded having to trust someone she didn't even know. But Meg had been absolutely convinced that he would want to help. And if Kate had learned anything over the past few months, it was that not everyone in the world was out to get her. Some people, even when they knew the darkest thing there was to know about her, remained on her side. Sawyer. Jack. Aunt Meg. Casey. Charlie and Claire. Even Paul now, it seemed. The knowledge that these people knew the truth but cared about her anyway - it still had the power to surprise her. But it also gave her hope.

According to the map, the preserve was about fifteen miles from the ranger's station. In order to get there, she would have to locate the precise spot where a narrow gap allowed passage through the solid cluster of mountains. It wouldn't be easy. The map wasn't very detailed, and the ranger who had drawn it had likely never imagined that someone's life would depend on its accuracy. The one circumstance that might prove to be her saving grace was the location of the mining camp west of the pass, near the base of the mountains next to a hastily sketched-in lake. If she could find that, then she would know she was getting close, and it would only be another's night's travel to reach the pass. If the camp was empty at this time of year, maybe she could even snoop around for some food or supplies. If nothing else, she could sleep protected from the elements. But if there were people there, she would have to forego all that and bypass the entire area, taking care not to be seen. She couldn't risk it.

There was no point thinking about it in detail yet, though. She still had a long way to go, with only the simple compass from the army surplus store to guide her. The task of putting one foot in front of the other, of propelling herself forward, soon became grueling. Every square inch of her body felt frozen. Her legs were so numb she could have stabbed herself and she probably wouldn't have felt a thing. Even through the gloves that she'd found in her coat pockets, her hands ached with the cold. She kept her hair down around her face, over her ears, in order to provide a small addition of warmth. As she walked, she ate handfuls of snow for moisture since she'd long ago left the river behind. The icy slush sliding down her throat chilled her from the inside out, and she would have given anything for something warm to drink. Although she knew she needed food to keep her strength up, she was too numb and exhausted to feel much hunger. It wouldn't have mattered if she had. There was no hope of finding anything to eat out here.

But in spite of her physical misery, she kept trudging forward, relentless and single-minded. She was determined not to let panic or despair overtake her again. She'd given in to it once already, and that would be it. She had to be stronger than that. All her life, she'd been strong - or at least strong on the outside, enough to put up a good front and convince everybody of her toughness, including herself at times.

From a combination of these thoughts as well as her physical surroundings, she was suddenly reminded of something that had happened to her a long time ago, when she was just a little girl. She hadn't thought about it in years. In fact, she'd tried not to think about it much since it had taken place. But it had been one of those silent shaping forces, with her all the time as she grew up, even when she wasn't consciously aware of it. It came back to her now, with all the freshness of immediacy.

She'd been ten years old. It was the last week of August, the last week of freedom, and of being with her dad. In a few days, she would have to get on a plane and go back home, back to the farm and Iowa and school, back to her mother and Wayne. She'd already begged to be allowed to stay here, in Washington, the way she did every time she came to visit. She was still young enough to think that there might be a chance, that if she could just hit on the right way of convincing him, then he wouldn't make her go home. All she wanted was to stay with him.

They'd been camping in a forest in the Cascade Mountains, very similar to where she found herself now, only of course it had been high summer, and warm. For five wonderful days, the two of them had been hiking and fishing and swimming, tracking deer and other wild animals, cooking over a campfire and sleeping under the stars. To a tomboy like herself, it had been paradise. And what made it even more perfect was that she was with her dad, her absolute favorite person in the world. He was her hero.

It was the last morning of their stay in the woods, and she'd awakened with the sun, as she usually did. Rolling onto her stomach, she'd looked over at her father's sleeping pallet, only to find it empty. She glanced around the campsite. He wasn't there, either. The fire was smoking faintly, and hadn't yet been built back up from the night before. But maybe he'd just gone to the bathroom or something, or was out doing some early fishing. He'd be back soon. Without feeling much worry, she'd rolled over again and burrowed down into her E.T. sleeping bag, confident that if she slept a little longer, he'd be there when she woke up.

Only he wasn't. When she opened her eyes again, the position of the sun was much higher, burning down onto her face. She got up and looked around the empty campsite, feeling the first vague stirrings of fear. Cramming her feet into her sneakers, she wandered down the short path to the lake. She had to shade her eyes against its sparkling brilliance, but she could already see that the banks were bare, and that he wasn't here. She went back up to their sleeping area, her heart beginning to thud.

Standing near the fire pit, she tried to think what to do next. Idly, she pulled her long messy braid around from behind her and chewed on the end of it, a habit her father hated. The morning birds sang on, cheerfully, and she felt a stab of resentment toward them. How could they act like everything was okay? After a few more minutes of waiting, she stepped onto an upturned log and cupped her hands to her mouth. "Dad?" she called, not very loudly at first. No answer. She tried again, a little louder this time. "Daddy!" Still, nothing.

Her heart started to pound even harder, and she dug her tongue into the gap where a molar had fallen out a few days ago, concentrating on the still-tangy taste of blood and trying not to cry. "DADDY!" she shrieked, as loud as she possibly could. The word echoed back to her, reverberating into the peaceful morning air with a terrible sound. It was like she was the only person left in the world, for all the response she got. She collapsed into a seated position on the log, shaking, and saw the green canopy before her waver and blur with tears. There was no holding them back. What could have happened to him? What if it was something really bad? What if she never saw him again? She gave in to panicky sobs, thinking of all the possibilities. With her knees drawn up against her chest, she rocked back and forth, clutching the fabric of her jeans tightly in her fingers, so hard they turned white.

After a few minutes of this frenzied, hopeless crying, she became aware of a rustling in the trees above her. Looking up, she saw something descending the trunk, which had been rigged up with a deer stand and a makeshift ladder. Through her tear-stained vision, she thought for a brief second that it was a bear, but she quickly realized that it was only a person. And as the person came lower and stepped to the ground, she saw that it was her father. He stood at the base of the tree and looked at her, sadly.

Stunned, she stood up, dragging the sleeve of her sweatshirt across her eyes to make sure it was really him. "Dad?" Then she ran toward him, throwing her arms around his waist and hanging onto him, tightly. He didn't move, and after a couple of seconds, he drew her back by the shoulders and led her over to the stump. Sitting down on it, he held her at arm's-length in front of him, looking at her seriously. With him seated, they were about the same height.

"Why were you up there?" she asked, bewildered and still crying a little. "Didn't you hear me calling you?"

"I was up there because I was testing you, Katie," he said in a grave voice. "And I'm disappointed. I'm very disappointed."

She continued to watch him, still confused but already understanding, instinctively, that she'd done something wrong. "I thought... I thought something happened to you."

"And what if something had? Would you have done me any good by sitting down here, crying like a baby?" He shook his head in remorse, answering his own question. "I thought you were my little soldier, Kate. Do soldiers cry?"

_But I'm not a _real _soldier_, she'd wanted to tell him, convinced that his logic had gone wrong somewhere. Instead, she only said in a small voice, "No."

"No, they don't," he agreed. "Because they're brave, and they do what needs to be done. Now, what should you have done, when you thought you were all alone here?"

She sniffled again, wiping her nose on her sleeve, looking at the ground now. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Tell me what you should have done." His voice was stern, but not unkind. Despite the obvious sincerity of his good intentions, Kate had the terrible sensation that he'd let her down somehow, though she knew this had to be wrong. She should feel disappointed in _herself_, not him. Everything he did was right.

She took a deep breath, trying to think. "Gone back to the base camp for help."

"Which way?"

Shrugging, she wished that he would just leave her alone. She didn't have the heart for his tracking drills anymore. It wasn't any fun today.

"_Which way_?" he repeated, taking a compass from his pocket and showing it to her.

She forced herself to look at it, to concentrate like he wanted. Finally, she raised her arm and pointed over his left shoulder, reluctantly. "That way."

"Good girl," he said. He drew her a little closer to him, his expression softening just the slightest bit. Sighing, he said, "You're almost eleven years old, sweetheart. You're not a little girl anymore. And I want you to be able to take care of yourself. I _need _to know," he emphasized, "that you can take care of yourself, when I'm not around to do it. Don't you want that?" he coaxed her, tilting her chin up and making her look at him. "Don't you want to be strong?"

There was clearly only one answer to the question. "Yes sir," she said sadly, her voice quiet. She suddenly felt much older than ten. And she also realized, with a sinking feeling, that she would never be allowed to stay here with him. Something about the way he looked at her told her that it was no use asking anymore. Since he was so disappointed in her, maybe he didn't even _want _her to stay. "I'm sorry," she added in a whisper.

He gazed at her for a few more seconds, searching for something in her face, like she was a stranger to him. He seemed to want to say something else, but he didn't. He'd pulled her into a hug instead, his voice low and serious when he spoke. "I want you to make me proud, Katie."

"I will," she'd said with her face pressed into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck in grateful affection. She'd forced herself not to cry anymore, even though it was the only thing she wanted to do. "I promise I will."

_"I will,"_ she repeated with silent bitterness to herself now as she watched her feet crunch through the snow, hearing the echo in her mind. That was one promise, obviously, that had never been kept. Though not for lack of trying. She'd tried to make him proud, every day, with almost everything she did in her life, from that point on. But it was no use. It had never really been any use. From that first awakening of her shame in the campsite, she'd known deep down that she would never be able to live up to his expectations. She wanted to be just like him - she'd always wanted that. But she'd always felt so different, so unable to really grasp what he needed from her, why he held so much of himself back, why he couldn't just love her, freely and with no holds barred, with no requirements to fulfill. There was only one person in the world who had ever loved her like that. And now he was gone too.

One day, of course, she'd finally understood why her father had always been such an enigma to her. The pieces had fallen into place, and it had clicked in her mind with a horrible, jarring impact. He couldn't really love her because she didn't really belong to him. He knew who she was, where she came from. He knew that she could never truly amount to much. He knew about the darkness. And she realized that her very existence was, for him, the symbol of his most humiliating failure. That was the day she gave up on trying to make him proud.

Now, looking back on this long-ago episode from an adult perspective, she began to wonder if he really had been right to scare her like that. Yes, it had toughened her up, but at what cost? She even wondered, in a tentative, vague manner, what her life might have been like if she hadn't always felt so much pressure to gain his approval. But that was a dangerous path to tread, and she backed away from it. Of course he'd been right. Her faults were all her own, and she would have turned out the way she did no matter what. Maybe even worse, without his guiding hand. "He's a good man," she told herself, fiercely. It was one of the few things she had to keep believing in.

_He mighta been good, Freckles, but that don't mean he didn't screw you up just as bad as the other one did._

Kate stopped in her tracks, startled. She looked around her, turning in a slow circle, even though she knew there wasn't really anyone here. But it had seemed _so real_. "Sawyer?"

It was just in her head, though, as she'd already suspected. It was Sawyer, speaking from inside her own subconscious. She'd been craving the sound of his voice for so long that now she'd actually started to _hear _the sound of his voice. The hunger and cold and exhaustion probably didn't help much, either. "I think I'm losing my mind," she whispered. Then she forced herself to start walking again.

Over the next few hours of forging through the woods, she was both unnerved and relieved to find that the voice in her head didn't go away. It stayed with her, keeping her company. She could hear him almost as clearly as if he'd been walking right next to her, and he said all the things that he would have said if he'd really been there. She'd absorbed his presence to such an extent that her mind could apparently recreate his personality from scratch, in her hour of greatest emotional need. Though she knew all along that it wasn't real, that it wouldn't last, she still clung onto it desperately as the only piece of him she had left. If she was going to have to relinquish her sanity, then at least she wouldn't feel so lonely while it was happening.

It was Sawyer's voice that told her she needed to re-tie the strips of fabric around her ankle when they started to loosen. It was his voice that assured her, when she'd halted in fear at the sound of a pack of wolves howling, that they were far off in the distance, and that it was only the echo of the mountain that made them seem close. And it was his voice, not surprisingly, that urged her to stop and rest, even to make a small fire in order to get warmed up a bit.

"I can't stop," she argued with him, out of breath. "And I can't have a fire. Do you want me to lead them right to me? I don't have the lighter anyway... you've got it with you."

_Like hell I do. You stuck it in your pants pocket after you lit that damn lantern. Remember?_

She paused, and then reached into her jeans, pulling out the lighter and staring at it in wonder. She'd forgotten that she'd even put it there. Or the at least the conscious, rational part of her mind had.

_Told you so._

"It doesn't matter anyway," she muttered, putting it back. "I can't have a fire. At least not until it gets light."

In her head, his voice continued to argue with her, to try to get her to stop and take a break. But she refused, determined to push herself further. She would never cover enough ground if she kept interrupting her trek with wasted moments of rest. And what if after she stopped, she found she didn't have the strength to start moving again? It was better to stay active, to let her willpower carry her forward until she couldn't take another step.

The night seemed interminable. She knew the Arctic winter nights were long, but what if this one never ended? The way things were going for her lately, it seemed a distinct possibility that the daylight would simply refuse to return. She grew so used to this idea of perpetual darkness, to the notion that she would just keep walking on through the night into eternity, that she at first didn't even notice the growing pale illumination of the sky.

_Gettin' light, Freckles. Time to stop._

"The sun isn't up yet," she said, stubborn to the end.

_You said light. You didn't say nothin' about the sun._

"When I get to the top of this hill, I'll stop."

The hill she spoke of was very steep, much steeper than the ones she'd previously been climbing. In the faint, milky light, she could see that she was close to the top, and she noticed that the ground grew rockier as she moved higher. Beyond the rim of the hill, she could see the tops of trees at her eye level, as if it dropped off steeply on the other side. She seemed to be nearing some kind of peak, and she hurried closer to the top, anxious to see what was on the other side.

When she finally did take the last few steps, bringing her level with the very top, she halted and looked out before her in awe. "Wow," she breathed softly. Down below her - far, far below, was a lake, lying in a sort of crater formed by the surrounding forested hills. Slightly elongated, and tapering off at one end beyond her vision into a series of smaller lakes and ponds, it was a steely, slate blue in the frigid morning light. Across from her, on the other side of the water, were the mountains - the ones she'd been trying to reach. Once again, she'd walked farther than she'd thought possible.

As she adjusted to the grandeur and magnitude of the vista before her, she started to pick out the smaller details. On the bank of the lake at the furthest point from her, she could just make out a cluster of buildings, lined up in rows. Oddly enough, it looked like a _trailer park_. For a moment, she couldn't reconcile this incongruity in her mind, but then she took in the scarred and battered side of the mountain nearest the mobile homes. It was covered with complicated machinery and what looked like drilling equipment, and she realized that this must be the mining camp. To her disappointment, she saw almost immediately that it was inhabited. There was no machinery running this early in the morning, but a few of the tiny windows of the trailers glowed with light, and wisps of steam poured from the tops of them, probably from heaters powered by generators.

_So much for breaking and entering._

Sawyer always had a way with words. Even when he was just a figment of her over-tired imagination.

She started down the hill, with the conviction that she couldn't stay anywhere near the camp. If there were people around here, it would be too risky. She had to make it down to the water and then circle around past the little village, leaving it safely behind her, before she could rest with her mind at ease. Part of her knew that it was probably too far - that it would take hours to bypass the area, and that it was only the distorted perception caused by this immense height that made it appear possible. But she was beyond logic. She operated now only on instinct, and her instincts told her to get far away from anyplace where there were strangers.

_What the hell do you think you're doin'?_

She ignored the part of her brain that sounded like Sawyer. This was something she had to follow through with. If it didn't make sense now, maybe it would make sense later. Once she was safely past the camp, she would find someplace decent and out of the snow, and she would give in to sleep. But not yet.

The hill was dangerously steep. Almost too steep to maneuver down while it was covered with snow, in fact. But she trusted to her own strength and coordination to get her to the bottom. She stepped carefully, balancing herself against tree trunks when there were any near, crouching low to the ground and almost sliding when there weren't. This was the kind of slope you could ski on, if you could find a clear path. The walking stick she'd been using to help support her ankle became too much of a burden, so she abandoned it. She would have to find another one when she got to the bottom. Snow and rocks dislodged themselves from under her feet with every step she took, rushing down toward the lake in mini-avalanches. She tried not to follow their course with her gaze. It was a little daunting, and she was already almost halfway down. Too late to turn back now.

She knew she was in trouble when she felt her knees begin to wobble. Her legs were so numb from the cold that they were probably weaker than she'd been aware of, considering how long she'd been on her feet now. And the added stress of trying to walk down such a steep grade was too much for them. Her left leg, the one with the bad ankle, gave out first, but before she could even manage to get her balance, the other one had collapsed from under her as well. She landed on her thigh, trying to stop herself from sliding by clawing frantically at the hillside, looking for something to hold onto. But there wasn't anything, and she couldn't seem to stop her downhill descent.

Suddenly, though, the very ground itself seemed to disappear from under her, and she felt herself falling through thin air. She came to rest with a jarring _thud _that knocked the wind out of her, a shower of pebbles and snow rattling and drifting down over her as she lay there, with her eyes not yet opened.

Finally, when all was still and quiet and she didn't seem to be in danger of falling any further, she raised her head up and looked around. She was in what appeared to be a kind of sinkhole in the side of the hill, a hollowed-out ravine, like a deep pockmark that had been partially disguised by the snowfall. It was slightly larger than the root cellar back at the house in Tennessee, only much deeper. The sides weren't excessively steep, and in normal circumstances, she knew she could have climbed out easily. But these were anything but normal circumstances. And already, she had a premonitory dread that it would be more than she could manage.

"Sawyer?" she muttered, experimentally. Now she wanted to hear the sound of his voice more than ever.

There was no answer. She tried again. "Aren't you gonna tell me to get up?"

But it was gone. Nothing. Only a vast, empty silence. For whatever reason, she couldn't get it back. Maybe the impact of the fall had knocked her back into her senses. If that was the case, she preferred to be without them.

She let her head fall back again. "I need you to tell me to get up," she whispered, feeling tears sting her eyes.

She knew she was being ridiculous. It had all been in her own head to begin with. She hadn't lost anything, because he hadn't really been there. And even if she had been able to retain her grasp on it, if she'd been able to keep that floating, evanescent part of him with her from here on out, it wouldn't have been enough. Sawyer was so much more than just a voice. She needed all of him with her, not just a fragment. She wanted his physical presence. She wanted to cup his grizzled sandpapery cheeks and then kiss his dimples, one at a time, so lightly that it would drive him crazy. She wanted to run her hands along the steep slope of his shoulders, _scarecrow shoulders_ as she called them when she was in the mood to tease him. She wanted to lay against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. She needed to feel the precise way his hands closed around her waist when he pulled her toward him, the way his hot breath felt on her neck, the way his mouth and his roughened delicate fingertips worshipped every square inch of her body. And the way he felt when he was inside her, how he could make that one perfect moment of ecstasy last longer than seemed humanly possible. She wanted all of that. Maybe she was greedy, but the sound of his voice in her head would never be good enough.

Kate still possessed enough coherence to be aware of the absurdity of the fact that she was lying in a snow-filled sinkhole, possibly close to death, and thinking about _sex_, of all things. Even with the peril she faced, she had to laugh at herself a little, though without opening her eyes. If nothing else, these thoughts at least made her feel a little warmer. And she knew that wherever Sawyer was, he would be proud if he knew that her potentially last thoughts of him were of how great he was in bed.

But she couldn't let them be her last thoughts. She'd only barely escaped death by fire a few nights ago. After that, how ironic would it be to allow herself to freeze to death? She had to get out of here.

Using all the strength she had left, trying to ignore how exhausted and sore she was, she managed to get into a sitting position and dragged herself over to the most gently sloping side of the ravine. If she had any chance at all, it would be here. Carefully, she crawled up, digging her frozen fingers into the ice and slush to try to get a handhold, something to anchor herself by. She moved only inches at a time. Keeping as close to the wall as she could, she flattened herself against it, almost hugging it. She could feel her body trembling with the effort.

Before she'd even made it halfway up, a chunk of ice broke off in her hand and she began to slide back down, despite frenzied efforts to dig her hands and feet in to retain her grip. She slid softly back into the drifts at the bottom of the wall, frustrated and defeated. This time, she let herself relax into it, too tired to resist. She was so cold already that the freezing snow wasn't even painful to her. It felt like a cushion, like a blanket that she just wanted to curl up in. If only she could sleep for awhile. Then maybe when she woke up, she'd be strong enough to climb out. Part of her knew that this was madness, that if she went to sleep now, she would never wake up. But the exhaustion was so overpowering, the thought of sleep so enticing, that she almost didn't care.

With slow, weak movements, she pulled her glove from her right hand, then lifted up her coat and sweater and rested her palm flat on her lower belly. There was just the slightest, barely perceptible amount of swelling there, a hint of a growing roundness. It was the first time she'd noticed it. As she felt sleep start to overtake her, she pretended that none of this was real. She pretended that they'd actually made it, that they were in a house all their own, and that she was in a warm, comfortable bed with Sawyer, a bed she never wanted to leave. And he was lavishing kisses on her stomach, doting on it with that mixture of fierce protection, terror, anticipation, and vulnerability he showed every time he thought about the baby. She smiled a little, her breathing slowing down. She could almost feel it.

Then she felt something else, something that momentarily interrupted her fantasy. It was a slight tugging on her arm. She painstakingly opened her eyes again.

There was a little girl leaning over her, peering down into her face with a questioning expression. She had two dark blonde braids and green eyes, and her coat was a bright, blood-red flare against the snow.

Kate spoke in a faint, slurred way, trying hard to form words. "We wanted to keep you. If all this hadn't happened..." She swallowed hard and continued. "And he would have been a good father. I _know _it. I think he already loved you... even more than I did."

The little girl gazed back at her in a slightly bewildered manner. "_Who _did?"

Kate struggled to stay awake. "Sawyer."

Pondering this for a few seconds with a puzzled look, the girl finally said in a matter-of-fact way, "My dad's name is Mark."

Opening her heavy eyes again, Kate squinted at her in delirious confusion. "_What_?" she whispered.

"I'll get him." The girl stood up and moved off a few paces. Kate made a supreme effort to roll her head to the side, feeling like she was moving in slow-motion. She watched as the girl cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted, "Dad?" The word echoed back into the shallow cavern. "Daddy!"

A man's voice came faintly from somewhere far above. "Grace? Where are you? I told you to stay with me!"

"I'm over here! There's a lady down here in the snow! I think she fell!" As an honest afterthought, the girl added, hopping excitedly on one foot, "She might be crazy, too."

The man's voice came nearer. "Tell her to try not to move!"

Hurrying back over to Kate, the little girl squatted down again, breathless, her eyes shining. "My dad says not to move."

Kate couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to. And she now began to understand, in a vague, far-off manner, that these people were real. She wasn't imagining them. They were strangers. And if they recognized her, or if the FBI had already warned residents in the area to be on the look-out, then it was all over. This was exactly what she'd dreaded, and why she'd been trying so hard to get away from the mining camp. But it didn't matter now.

She could hear the looming crunch of footsteps, and the man speaking to his daughter, or maybe to _her_, but she couldn't make out the words anymore. Their voices had a warped, distorted quality, like a tape that had been slowed down and played at half its normal speed. She could tell the man was coming closer. It was enough for her to know that he wasn't Sawyer. Beyond that, she didn't care anymore who he was.

Letting her head roll back into the snow, her eyes closed once again as the dark wave of unconsciousness rolled over her.

* * *

In a small, dingy jail cell in Whitehorse, Sawyer glanced at his watch impatiently. He didn't understand what was taking so long. He'd asked to meet with the investigators an hour ago, and they were still keeping him waiting. If they were really as desperate to find her as they seemed to be, then he'd assumed they would want to speak with him again at the earliest opportunity. Every second wasted added a greater potential for her to slip out of their grasp. But he suspected that they probably knew this to be the truth, and that they were only making him wait in order to let him think that they didn't really require him, and that his assistance was something they would accept, but not something they urgently needed. He knew better than to fall for this ploy. They were up against a brick wall. If they'd had any luck at all, they would have already come in to gloat by now.

He stretched out on his bed, trying to make himself relax, to steady his nerves. The cell was empty now, to his relief. His friendly dipshit of a bunkmate had been released on bail last night, paid for by his own bruised and injured wife, no less. Nobody else had been brought in, and Sawyer hoped it would remain that way. He needed quiet in order to think, to fine-tune his tentative plan.

He knew, of course, that there wasn't really much chance of it working, or of it even getting off the ground. But he had to try something. He couldn't just wait for them to transport him back to Tennessee, letting her slip further and further away from him, without any idea at all of where she was or what she would do. If nothing else, at least this would give him something to concentrate on, and would allow him to focus his energies.

The plan centered around the concept that he would take advantage of their own weak position to gain himself some flexibility. First, he would have to let them believe that he'd thought better of his refusal, and that he was willing to play along to protect his own self-interest. He could pit the two agents against each other, which shouldn't be hard, considering their patently unequal status. That Reed guy was a good candidate for someone he could manipulate over to his side. He could sense this in a predatory way, after having only been around him twice. It would have to be done slowly, by degrees, but it might be possible.

Also, if they really wanted his help in looking for her, then they would have to play by _his _rules. He wasn't going to tell them where she might be, or which areas to search. He would insist on going in himself. And furthermore, he would insist on being alone when he did. Because Kate was smart. Regardless of what they pretended to believe about her, they knew she was smart. If he did get anywhere near her, she would know better than to approach him with agents lurking around, waiting to spring. He would convince them that the only way she would ever trust him was if he was totally and completely alone. That would mean, of course, that they would put some kind of tracking device on him. And then would come the tricky part. Depending on what kind it was, it might be nearly impossible to get rid of. If he couldn't, then he wouldn't even try to find her. But if he could... even if he had to gouge it out of his own flesh with a knife, he would do it... and then maybe, just maybe they would have another shot, another chance to run. The odds were slim, but she'd done it before. Why not one more time?

Of course, he was aware that this vaguely-conceived design would probably have to be altered along the way. But he was prepared for that. In his cons, he knew that he always had to leave room for variables, for the subtle psychological nuances he would have to detect and respond to. He had to be ready to alter his course at a split second's notice, without giving anything away. It was part of the game, and that was what made it challenging. It wouldn't be easy, but if it meant getting the hell out of here, and a chance at getting her back, then he was up for it.

_Don't do anything stupid, Sawyer. I'm not worth it._

He could hear Kate's warning in his head like she was right in the room with him. It was a bit unnerving, actually, how he could conjure her up with such ease, along with the exact attitude she would have taken toward his idea. These words in particular had a familiar echo to him, and he thought she'd said them to him once before, though he couldn't recall the exact occasion. It had pissed him off then, and the memory of it pissed him off now. Like hell she wasn't _worth it_. Since she didn't estimate herself very highly, she often seemed to forget that she was the most important thing in the world to him. And if it came to that, then he wasn't _worth it,_ either, was he? So then it stood to reason that if neither one of them were worth it, they should just give it their all, since they didn't have anything left to lose, anyway. Then at least they could be worthless together.

But they'd kept him waiting so long that he was afraid he would start to lose his nerve if something didn't happen soon. The whole success of the plan hinged on him being able to keep the upper hand, and on his ability to play the part that he'd assigned himself. Maybe he should try to get their attention again. Just when he'd made up his mind to do this, however, the woman officer came toward his cell. He could tell it was her before she got there, by the clacking of her shoes on the floor.

"Hey, Sacajawea," he said, smiling at her. "What took you so long?" He thought she looked like she was probably of Native American descent. And if not, it was still a fun nickname, and one he rarely got to use.

Compressing her lips tightly in an effort not to smile back at him, as she'd had to do every time she interacted with him over the last twenty-four hours, she unlocked the door. As he moved toward her, he saw that she carried handcuffs, ready to place them on him.

"Aww, come on now. I thought we were friends?"

"Sorry," she told him as if she really meant it. "They think you might be dangerous."

"They do, do they?" He let her snap the cuffs around his wrists, a little proud of this information. "How 'bout that."

She closed the door again and started to lead him down the hall. He decided to flirt with her, just for the hell of it. But before he could manage to get started, he came to a sudden halt, distracted by something that caught his eye. At the end of the hall, near the desk of one of the police officers, a group of men were standing, huddled over some type of document. One of them, seen in profile, looked just like... But no, it couldn't be. For a second, he'd almost thought that the guy was the same one who'd chased them down a few days ago and fallen through the ice, the one who claimed he shared the same father as Kate. _Paul_. That was the bastard's name. But what would he be doing here?

As if he sensed Sawyer watching him, the guy glanced up and met his eyes, then turned away, casually. Sawyer was almost certain he must have been mistaken. The man didn't show any signs of recognition. It was probably just his memory messing with him, due to stress and lack of sleep. He shook his hair out of his eyes a little, as if clearing his vision.

The policewoman tugged on his arm, confused as to why he'd stopped walking. "Meeting room's this way. Remember?"

He glanced down at her, as if he'd forgotten she was there. "Right." Casting one more suspicious look toward the end of the hall, he followed her to the door she'd indicated.

While she buzzed him in, he collected himself, shaking off the last remaining vestiges of what he'd just seen. He was convinced it was nothing. And in order to be at the top of his game, he had to give one hundred percent of his concentration to the task that was before him.

The door swung open, and he stepped inside, feeling the officer shut it behind him. She hadn't removed the handcuffs. Wearing them would detract a bit from his confidence level, but he would just have to work around it. He looked down at the table where he'd been sitting during the previous conversation. Callahan was in the same spot he'd occupied yesterday, with his fingers interlaced on the surface in front of him, waiting with an air of patience. He was alone.

Sawyer flashed him a sardonic smirk by way of greeting. "Afternoon, Columbo. Sorry I'm late... Had a lunch conference I couldn't get out of." He lowered himself into the chair that had been provided for him, as smoothly as he could without the use of his hands.

Callahan smiled warily. "I'll bet."

With a glance at the empty chair beside him, Sawyer inquired, "Where's your friend?"

"Agent Reed is busy with other matters. He won't be joining us this afternoon." He paused, suddenly interested. "Why? Is that a problem?"

_Damn_. That screwed up another part of his plan, though luckily just a minor one. He made sure to give no indication of this, however. "Not at all. I just thought you kinda liked havin' him around to make yourself look like more of a stud. Isn't that what sidekicks are for?"

"I understand you requested this meeting," Callahan prompted him. He leaned forward in anticipation. "Having second thoughts about our little discussion yesterday, by any chance?"

Sawyer pretended to be a bit unsettled by this remark, with a tiny amount of shame mixed in. He let the smile die from his face. They needed to think that he only did this reluctantly, and with his back to the wall. He hoped his acting skills weren't rusty.

"Guess you could say that," he muttered.

"Smart man," Callahan said in a friendly way, nodding. He seemed to have expected this turn of events. "Why don't we get started right away?" He pulled out a pad of paper and clicked the top of a pen, as if he planned on receiving specific directions, and all he would have to do in order to find Kate was to write down the correct address. It was all Sawyer could do not to laugh at his delusional eagerness.

"You might want to hold your horses there, Chief," he said slowly. "It ain't gonna be quite that simple. And if you really want all this to work out in your favor, then I got a few... _stipulations _we should discuss."

Glancing up at him in disbelief, Callahan gave a quiet chuckle. "I see. And do you really think that you're in a position to be giving us... _stipulations_?"

"Matter of fact, I do," Sawyer said. "Of course, if you don't agree, maybe I oughtta just go back to that cell and accept my fate. I hear they serve pizza on Fridays here. Wouldn't want to miss that."

The two of them watched each other for a few seconds, warily. Finally, Callahan laid his pen down, looking annoyed. "All right. Let's hear 'em."

Sawyer took a deep breath. This was the most important part. Everything would depend on his ability to talk his way through this, to convince him that he was on their side, but that the details had to be done his way. He felt a surge of adrenaline rush through him, the way he always did when he was moving in for the kill.

He hadn't yet managed to get a word out when a few short raps on the door broke his concentration. He glanced behind him, irritated, to see Reed poke his head in.

Trying to keep his cool, Sawyer said, "Well, look who decided to join the party. You done parkin' the cars?"

Ignoring him completely, Reed looked at his partner. His face was serious. "I've got something here I think you'd better take a look at. They just brought in the analysis report from the fire site... the local crime lab rushed it through like you wanted."

Callahan tried to brush him off, annoyed at the interruption. "Put it with the other papers. I'll look at it later."

Without budging, Reed reiterated, "I think you're gonna want to see this."

"It can't wait?"

"Oh, believe me... you don't want it to. Let's just say it puts a _whole new spin_ on things."

Sighing heavily, Callahan gestured for him to come in. He stood, and the two of them moved over to the windows, in the corner of the room.

"I hope you know I can still see you from here," Sawyer said. They paid no attention to him.

Reed opened a file folder on top of a desk and indicated something with his finger. They both stared down at it, Callahan running his eyes over the writing. He glanced up at Reed, stunned, then back down at the paper. "Is this for real?"

Shrugging, Reed tried to act casual, though he seemed to be proud of the fact that he'd delivered such important information. "Hard to mistake that kind of forensic evidence. Wasn't much of the body left, but they had the dental records faxed up from Iowa... it's a perfect match. No question about it. It's her."

At this bewildering exchange, Sawyer's entire sense of composure vanished in an instant. Though it didn't yet really mean anything to him, his body itself reacted to the words, feeling like it had suddenly been dipped in a pool of ice water. He watched the agents, listening to them, not moving.

Callahan read the page again, then flipped to the next one, then flipped back again, shaking his head. He flung his hand at the document, hitting it with a thwack. "_Unbelievable_," he said, frustrated. "Almost six months I've spent trying to bring this girl in." He stared at Reed, his disappointment plainly evident.

"Well, look at the bright side," his partner responded. "At least she didn't get away this time, right?"

Callahan pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously not much cheered by this news. Sighing, he closed the file and handed it back. "Call the Bureau. Tell 'em to get the ball rolling on closing the case." He shook his head again, like he still couldn't believe it. "And call in all the agents that are still out searching. I want to get out of this hellhole as soon as possible."

Now he turned back to Sawyer, momentarily remembering his presence. With a bitter smile, he came toward him. "Well... looks like we've all been wasting our time. Turns out your little girlfriend died in the fire."

Sawyer continued to watch him, not saying anything.

"What, no witty comebacks? I guess we finally found a way to shut you up." He seemed amused by this. "Can't really blame you. Comes as a bit of a shock to me too, if you want to know the truth. Seems like maybe we all overestimated Ms. Austen's abilities just a bit."

Swallowing hard, trying to force words out, Sawyer spoke in a low, gravelly voice barely above a whisper, his expression dark and threatening. "You two rehearse your lines before you came in here? Decide to put on a little skit for me?"

Callahan stared at him uncomprehendingly for a second, then laughed. "A _skit_," he repeated. "That's a good one." Then he turned to Reed again, suddenly looking old and tired. He moved toward the door. "I got a mountain of paperwork to get to."

Reed nodded, understanding. "I'll get on those calls." He glanced at Sawyer. "What about him?"

Casting him a dismissive look, as if he'd already forgotten about him, Callahan said, "Leave him in here for now. Until we figure out what to do with him."

The two of them left, letting the door swing shut and the lock click behind them. The room was silent.

Sawyer stared down at the surface of the table, not moving his body at all. His mind was numb, unable to process anything for the moment. All he knew was that it couldn't be real. It couldn't be true. He hadn't seen her that night, but he'd been positive she'd gotten out. So positive, in fact, that he hadn't even given it a second thought since then. Because if something had happened to her, he would have known it. He would have _felt it_. Right?

He kept his eyes on the tabletop, lulling his emotions into a kind of suspended animation. He would simply wait. He wouldn't think anything, and he wouldn't feel anything. If he waited, everything would get straightened out. If these agents were up to something, he would figure out what it was, later. Because it wasn't real. It was some kind of trick. He breathed slowly, not letting his thoughts touch on it.

Out of absolutely nowhere, a memory came to him as he sat there in silence, looking at the dirty white plastic of the table. It had nothing to do with anything, and yet it popped into his head as if he'd been trying to think of it for hours. He let himself accept it, watching it like a movie in his mind, since he wouldn't go near the alternative. Anything was better than the alternative.

This particular memory, for God knew what reason, brought back to him his eleventh birthday. The foster home he was staying at, near Chattanooga, was overcrowded, filled beyond its capacity. His foster parents, whom he barely knew, aside from their names, had sent him outside to play early in the morning, forbidding him to come back in before lunch. He didn't think they knew it was his birthday. He couldn't really blame them for forgetting, though. He'd nearly forgotten it himself.

He'd wandered around for awhile, bored, then started swinging on the front gate at the end of the driveway. It was something he wasn't allowed to do, so of course he did it every chance he got. When he'd been doing this long enough to get tired of it, a little disappointed that nobody had caught him, a car pulled into the driveway, then backed up again and stopped. He'd watched it with detached curiosity, figuring it was probably another kid being dropped off.

He couldn't have been more surprised to see his own aunt and uncle emerge from the car. John even looked tolerably well-dressed, and not drunk for once. He'd gazed up at Sawyer on the fence. "Pardon me, Son. We're lookin' for a little boy goes by the name of James Ford. You have any idea where he might be?"

He hopped down. "It's _me_."

Squinting a little, John examined him and then shook his head. "No... no, this boy I'm lookin' for is just a young'un, about yea high." He held his hand close to the ground. "Not a big grown-up feller like yourself."

Walking closer, he'd insisted, "That's _me_, Uncle John! I'm James!"

John turned to Meg, who was watching all this with interest, dressed in her Sunday best with a flamboyant hat. "Well... I reckon maybe he don't live here anymore," he said regretfully. "Guess we'd better go."

Fed up with this nonsense, Sawyer had punched him in the groin.

"_Son-of-a_..." his uncle gasped, doubling over.

Meg cackled delightedly. "That's what you get for teasing him." She hooked her thumb toward the car. "Get in, kid."

"Why?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, maybe you don't _want _to go to the rodeo. _Or _the baseball game."

He got in the car.

It was one of the only birthdays he actually remembered. In all honesty, it had probably been the only single _day _of his childhood that he'd thoroughly enjoyed, at least since the deaths of his parents. They'd bought him a cowboy hat, and one of those goofy giant foam baseball fingers. They'd let him gorge himself on corndogs and root beer. And they'd made him laugh, which was a feat not many people could accomplish in those days.

Everything went to hell, of course, when they'd pulled back into the driveway of the foster home that evening, and he'd refused to get out of the car. "Why can't I go back with you?" he'd asked, trying to be reasonable and not whine. It wasn't easy. He clenched his fists together in desperate determination.

Meg glanced at her husband, her face dark and pained.

"Go on," he said quietly. "I'll take care of it."

She turned around and looked at him in the back seat. "You keep on writing to us, you hear?" she said fiercely. Then she got out and walked up the driveway, toward the road, as if she couldn't bear to be anywhere near.

His uncle had tried to drag him inside, kicking and cussing, which had eventually required the help of both foster parents. Sawyer had been a strong kid, willing to fight dirty when he wanted something. But they'd eventually overpowered him, and his uncle had left him with a sad pat on the head, which he angrily ducked away from. He watched from the window as the older man headed out to the car, looking like he needed a drink. Meg was waiting near the mailbox, smoking a cigarette with a stony expression. They never came for his birthday again.

Behind him in the jail's meeting room, the door opened once more. Sawyer turned, pulling himself out of this incongruous memory with an effort. He didn't know how much time had passed. It could have been two minutes, or two hours.

Reed gestured for him to stand up. He was carrying Sawyer's coat, for some reason. "Come on."

Complying with reluctance, he let himself be ushered toward the door. "Is it time for _Act Two_?" he asked with sarcasm.

Giving him a funny look, Reed laughed a little. "I guess you could call it that."

They went down the hall, passing the turning that led to the cellblock. Sawyer looked back at it, confused, but kept following. Reed chose another hall, going all the way to the end of it where a sign said _Exit _in lighted red letters. He pushed it open and went out, holding it for Sawyer. Stepping down onto gravel, he blinked at the brightness of the snow and the winter sky.

The door fell closed. They were in an alley off to the side of the jail. Nothing was visible but the brick wall of the next building and a few dumpsters. Balancing his bundle under his arm, Reed reached out with a small key and unlocked Sawyer's handcuffs. His arms fell free.

"What the hell are we doin' out here?" he asked in a savage tone, bringing his wrists around to his front, disturbed at being let out of the cuffs.

Reed looked glad for the opportunity to deliver his speech. "Why? Because, after giving it some thought, Agent Callahan and I have come to the decision that it's not really worth our while to waste any more time or money on you. Tell you the truth, the only reason we had any interest in keeping you around was to get to _her_. And since that's not gonna happen..." here he paused, hooking onto a metaphor that pleased him. "Look at it this way. If the fish gets away, you don't haul the worm home and display it, do you?" He smiled. "Especially if that worm happens to be an irritating pain in the ass."

Sawyer scoffed, still trying to find the catch here. For the love of God, please let there be a catch. "What, you're just gonna let _me go_? You really expect me to fall for that?"

With a strange look, as if he was beginning to doubt Sawyer's intelligence, Reed answered. "You just don't get it, do you? Kate Austen_ is dead_. You're worth _nothing _to us." He gestured toward the end of the alley, where it entered the street. "If you want to get back to the States, you'll have to find your own way - as far as we're concerned, you're Canada's problem now." He turned back to him, lowering his voice confidentially. "And if you want my advice? Look around a little more carefully the next time you find yourself a girlfriend."

Glaring at him with more hatred and terror than he'd ever felt before in his life, Sawyer waited. Where was the catch? He was losing hope by the second. Where was the goddamn catch?

Now Reed pulled out a manila envelope from underneath the coat draped over his arm. "Here. Your personal effects, from inside the coat pockets." He handed it to Sawyer. "Everything but the gun. You don't get that back."

Sawyer tilted the thing to the side, feeling a few small metal objects slide from one corner to the other. He couldn't remember what they were.

"And here's your coat. Better put it on. It's a little chilly out here, don't you think?"

Yanking it out of his grip, Sawyer pulled it around himself, immediately noticing how lightweight it felt. He glanced down at it, then up at Reed.

With a sly, superior smile, Reed explained. "Thought you might notice the difference. Good hiding place, by the way... inside the lining like that. Close to ninety thousand... pretty impressive." He narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping to a menacing tone. "You can just consider it a... _donation_ of sorts, to the United States justice system. For all the trouble you've caused us."

With his jaw clenched in rage, Sawyer continued to watch him, unable to find any words.

"Well," Reed said with a tone of finality. "I think we're all done here." He pushed the door back open and stepped inside. "Why don't you do yourself a favor and clear on out of the area? No real reason to stick around, is there?" He glanced up at the sky, absently, and then back at Sawyer one more time. "Good luck."

The door swung shut after him. Sawyer was left standing in the alley, alone. Alone with the certainty that there was no catch. That this was real. That all of it was true. Within the space of not more than an hour, probably, the entire facade of his life had crashed down into fragments around him, and there was no chance of the pieces fitting back together. She was really gone. He would never see her again, and there was nothing left of her. She was dead. His Freckles was dead.

His face a mask of bewildered, uncomprehending agony, he turned toward the street. Like a blind man, not seeing or understanding anything that was before him, he started to walk.


	33. Chapter 33

Sorry this is late! As you may have read on Lost-Forum, I had a bit of a cancer scare with my mom last week, so it was difficult to work on this while I was stressed out. This chapter is just Sawyer - it would have been WAY too long with both of them, so Kate's will be up next. Since I wanted to resolve a certain issue in this chapter, it turned into a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, though I hope it's spaced in a way that it doesn't seem too overcrowded.

**sabrina**: Very good guess about one of the things in the envelope! I didn't expect anyone to remember that. ;)

Thank you once again to everyone for reviewing. And welcome to the new readers - I admire you for making it through this long-winded monster of a fic.

(The stupid divider bar isn't working)

**Chapter 33**

If somebody had asked him how he'd found this place, he wouldn't have been able to tell them. Sawyer didn't have any idea how he'd arrived here. It was like some type of radar that he had, this ability to find a bar even when he wasn't familiar with the city he happened to be in. He'd gone to it as if he knew exactly where it was, without even paying attention to the direction he walked. If he'd been at all capable of rational thought, he might have remembered that this particular homing mechanism had served him well on countless occasions in the past. But at the moment, he wasn't capable of rational thought, or of anything resembling it.

He sat on a stool up at the front, staring down into a glass. The expression on his face was dark and brooding, almost tortured. With his eyes unfocused, he seemed to look through the wooden counter, rather than at it. There was only one image in his mind. It was the same basic image that had floated up into his consciousness to haunt him in those first few days after getting off the plane back in September, when he'd felt so guilty for not letting her on the raft. Only now, it was a thousand times - a _million _times - worse. Because added to that comparatively simple picture of her on the island were all the innumerable ways he'd seen her since then. Since she'd become _his_. Every single second they'd spent together, every fight, every roll of her eyes or goofy smile or look of tender concern, all the hours he'd lavished on her in bed... he'd never realized until now that he possessed such a detailed memory. Maybe because before, he'd never had much that was _worth _remembering. But he could tell that all these images of Kate would turn out to be a curse, not a blessing. The pain they caused him was like nothing he'd ever experienced. They would crush the life out of him, or what little remained of it. Already, he found it difficult to breathe.

Along with the desperation and the grief that threatened to suffocate him, there was a red-hot rage drifting around the edges of his thoughts, hovering like a fog that could descend at any moment and consume him like fire. Part of him craved it, because it would obscure the more brutal, stabbing pain he was enduring at the knowledge of what he'd lost. But for the first time in his life, he fought against it. He willed himself not to take the easy way out. He didn't deserve to let himself take the easy way out. Not this time.

There was no longer any doubt in his mind that it was all true. Since the moment the agent had turned from him, so dismissively, and gone back inside the police station, he'd known that there was no way in hell the Feds had anything to do with this. Even without being able to think clearly, he could grasp the simplicity of it. If they made him think she was dead, then there was no way he could lead them to her. And all they'd wanted was to find her. It would do them no good at all to go to such elaborate lengths when it wouldn't result in anything. Besides, he'd seen the truth in their reactions. He'd seen their frustration and their weary defeat at the fact that they'd never have her in their clutches now. Believing it to be an act had only been his automatic last-ditch effort to deny reality. And it had failed him, as he'd known deep down that it would.

"You need a refill on that?"

He raised his head, slowly, forcing himself to focus on the figure of the bartender who stood in front of him with his eyebrows raised in a question. Sawyer shoved the glass toward him, acquiescing without words. The man tipped a bottle over the rim, filling it about halfway, then slid it back to him, giving him a concerned glance as he moved off to another customer. Lifting the tumbler, Sawyer inhaled the strong, intoxicating scent of the whiskey, then tossed back most of it in one swallow. The spreading burn as it traveled down his throat toward his stomach was probably the only pleasure he could ever hope to feel again.

_Dead_. He tried to wrap his mind around what that word really meant. _Death_. He was as bewildered, as thoroughly disoriented as he'd been at the age of eight when the mystifying concept had first invaded his life. His parents had been there one moment, and then violently, irretrievably gone the next. He'd never been able to make any sense of that night. And now here he was, midway through his thirties, and he still didn't understand a damn thing about it. In all the years since then, he hadn't yet figured out what any of it meant, or how it could happen so fast. He was more lost and confused than he'd been as a child. The only thing that had saved him then was knowing who was responsible for taking away the people he loved, knowing that one day he would find him and make him pay. It had focused his turmoil, centering it on one specific point, one concrete desire. But who was supposed to pay for this? There was nobody but himself.

If she was dead, then where was she now? Despite their halfhearted jokes about sharing a cab to hell, he didn't really believe there was such a place. He didn't believe there was anything at all there, after you died. Kate was gone. There wasn't a thing left of her. Everything that had made up the unique, particular person she was - her thoughts, her hopes, her memories, her crazy psychological baggage - it was all obliterated, as seamlessly as if it had never existed. It was like sleep, he assumed, only without dreaming. And more importantly, without the chance of ever waking up. She'd gone back into that black floating nothingness that she'd been in before she was born, before some waitress in Iowa had gotten lonely with her husband off in the army and decided to make time with the neighborhood scumbag, getting knocked up and bringing a little girl into the world who would be forced to grow up too fast and who would later be most well-known to him, not by her real name, but by a nickname derived from the smattering of faint sun-spots across her nose and cheeks. _Freckles_. His tough beautiful funny intelligent brave vulnerable mysterious Freckles. And now she didn't exist anymore. Why was it so impossible for him to accept the fact that she didn't exist in this world anymore? She wasn't anywhere. He would never see her again. There wasn't a single thing he could do that would ever bring her back.

And with her of course had gone that other little piece of him, of both of them combined, that she carried within her. All the emotions they'd expended on their badly timed accident were for nothing. It was just as well. If the kid had already been born, it wasn't like he could have taken care of it on his own. Even with the knowledge that they would share the responsibility, he'd still been terrified as hell about what it would be like, of whether he could do it or not. But there was nothing to worry about now. Once again, circumstances had saved him the trouble of being a father. As he tossed the rest of his drink back, he worked hard to hold onto this cynical attitude, knowing it was safer than the alternative.

He could now hear music behind him, vaguely, as well as the thudding clicks of somebody playing a game of pool. He didn't know how long he'd been in here. Forcing himself to concentrate, he caught the bartender's eye and lifted his glass slightly. The man approached him, hesitant. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah." His voice sounded gruff and harsh to his own ears, barely making it above a whisper.

"Awful early in the day for so much liquor."

Sawyer glared at him, not replying. The man finally refilled the glass and gave it back to him.

He sipped the whiskey more slowly this time, trying to make it last longer. Now his thoughts began to edge toward the territory he'd been trying to avoid, although he knew it was inevitable that he would have to confront it. Feeling that he had almost enough alcohol in him to handle it, he let himself wonder about the details. How exactly had it happened? Had she done it on purpose? If he hadn't stopped her that first time, he had no doubt that she would have stayed in the building and let the flames overtake her. He didn't know what had happened to her after the lamp had tipped over, but it was obvious she'd suffered some kind of break with reality. She'd been staring into the fire like there was something in there, something drawing her toward it. He hadn't wanted to slap her, but it wasn't like he'd had a lot of time to reason with her. If he hadn't taken drastic measures to bring her back to her senses, she would have walked right into the fire.

But then she'd come back to him. He'd _seen it_ _happen_. He'd seen her pull herself back from the brink, seen the change in her eyes when she'd resolved to survive, to try once again to escape from the relentless bastards who kept chasing them. It was a memory he was absolutely certain of. After such a profound transformation, she wouldn't have gone back to that dark place where she didn't care what became of her. She was so much stronger than that. When she'd started to climb up the chimney, she'd had every intention of making it out alive. He knew she had.

She hadn't made it, though, had she? She hadn't made it out alive. Had she gotten stuck in there somewhere? Had she made it to the top, only to find it sealed up, or too narrow to crawl through? Had she suffocated from the smoke? Had she gone back down into the burning heat? Maybe she'd been looking for him, wondering why he wasn't coming up behind her like he'd said he would. She might have called for him, waiting with growing desperation for an answer. Maybe her last thoughts were worry for him, or fear that he'd been caught. Maybe she'd been wedged inside that cramped, scorching space, thinking that he'd lied to her, that he'd disappointed her again, that she was going to die alone and that he wasn't even there to help her. Had it hurt? Had she been in pain? Had she been scared?

He was suddenly conscious of a popping sensation, and then a quiet clinking sound. He looked down at his hands, feeling a pinched sting. The glass he'd been squeezing had broken, shattered from the intense pressure he exerted on it. A tiny zigzag of a cut crossed his palm, but it didn't bleed. His skin was white and cold. He stared at it, wishing it would hurt more.

"You all right?" The bartender was looking at him again, warily. He came closer, waiting for an answer but finally giving up. "Sorry to be a hard-ass, but I'm gonna have to ask you to pay for that. Those glasses cost us money."

It took Sawyer a few seconds to understand what the man had said. It was like he was speaking a foreign language that needed to be mentally translated before the words possessed any meaning. Making an effort to give some kind of normal human response, as if he actually gave a damn about anything anymore, he reached into his coat pockets. There was nothing there. No money, no wallet. He tried the inner pockets, now vaguely remembering that the sons-of-bitches had taken everything from the con. The only thing he found was the manila envelope. Had they left him anything at all? He unfolded the top and reached inside, checking for cash. There wasn't any. Instead, he pulled out something flat and round, about the size of a silver dollar. He had no idea what it was. Angling it up toward the dim light of the neon bar signs, he could just barely make out the faintly engraved lettering. _1st place_, _4-H Livestock Fair, 1990. _

A wave of sickness washed over him. He stared hard at the award medal, the perimeters of his vision fading out and becoming dark as he focused on this one specific object. He clenched his teeth together so hard that his jaw hurt, running his thumb over the front of the smooth gold plating, his hand shaking a bit. Flashing across his memory was the image of the way she'd looked when she'd found it, the way she'd kneeled in the charred remains of that house in Iowa that no longer existed, and the half-embarrassed, half-proud smile she'd tried to suppress when he'd asked her if he could keep it.

And he suddenly understood, without much surprise or interest, that he wasn't going to make it without her. Looking ahead into his own life was as pointless as looking ahead into hers. Both futures had been wiped out together, in one clean stroke. How the hell had he let this happen to himself? What had she _done to him_? He assumed that this was his long overdue punishment for the hatred and bitterness he'd carried around with him all his life, punishment for his ill-fated attempt at revenge. If he'd never gone to Australia to murder an innocent man, he never would have been on that plane. He never would have met her, and this wouldn't have happened to either one of them. Their screwed-up lives never should have crossed paths with each other. She was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He fucking _hated _her. He hated her so much that he wanted to bring her back to life so he could kill her again, so much that he wanted to go back in time and kill both of them before they ever had a chance to reach this disastrous point, before they ever had the misfortune to set eyes on each other.

But it was no good. Because the more he told himself how much he hated her, the more it was brought home to him how hopelessly, perilously in love with her he was. He loved her so much it was going to kill him. If he lived to be a hundred, he didn't think he would ever love her any less than he did right now. But he wasn't going to live that long. That much he was sure of. At this point, he still possessed a clear-enough mind to be thankful for it.

The bartender continued to watch him. "Unless that's a gold doubloon you got there, buddy, I don't think we'll be able to accept it in here. How 'bout some cash?"

Sawyer looked up at him again, then put the medal and the envelope back into his pocket, moving slowly, like he was underwater. "Looks like I'm clean broke," he said in a quiet voice that lacked all the sarcastic edge he would have normally infused it with. "Guess you'll have to put it on my tab."

Tilting his head back a little, the man seemed to realize for the first time that he was going to have _a situation_ here. Sawyer could see him trying to figure out what to do about it. Personally, he was hoping for a confrontation. Anything to distract him.

"I got it," came a voice from over to the side. Glancing in that direction, Sawyer saw someone place a few bills of Canadian money flat on the bar. Annoyed rather than grateful, he let his eyes travel up the guy's arm to see what this self-righteous do-gooder thought he was trying to pull. Then he froze in shock, letting the realization filter into his consciousness gradually.

It was him. Holy _shit_. He'd been right earlier, when he'd thought he'd seen him in the police station. After the emotional avalanche accompanying the news of Kate's death, the minor incident in the hallway had been completely obliterated from his mind. He hadn't thought about it once since it had happened. If he hadn't recognized Paul now, here in this bar, of all places, he probably never would have thought about it again.

"_You_," he said accusingly, in a low, hate-filled rasp. He stood up, a bit unsteady. Then, instead of bothering to say anything else, he grabbed hold of him in a flash and slammed him into the wall at the edge of the counter, closing his hands around the guy's neck before he even had a chance to understand what had hit him. "You _son-of-a-bitch_," Sawyer gasped out, as if he was the one choking, rather than the man he gripped by the throat. "You did this, didn't you?Did you lie to her_?" _He banged his head against the wall for emphasis. "_Did you turn us in?"_

Paul beat on Sawyer's wrists, attempting to free himself. He was trying to form words, and Sawyer could tell by the way he stared at him that he wanted to say something, but he still didn't ease up on his chokehold. It was too satisfying. He felt hands pulling on him from behind, but they had no effect. It was only when Paul brought his knee up into Sawyer's groin, in an unexpectedly quick move, that he stumbled backwards with a furious hiss of air. He made an attempt to rush back toward him again, but Paul was ready for him this time, sidestepping out of his route and sending Sawyer crashing against a table and then onto the floor. Making one more attempt to resume the attack, he started to pull himself up again but was pushed down by the foot of one of the random bystanders who'd been trying to intervene. Letting his head fall onto the sticky floor, he lay there on his back, dizzy from the alcohol that had only hit him after he stood up. He let his eyes close.

"You want me to call the cops?" he heard the bartender ask.

Paul was trying hard to catch his breath. He shook his head before he was able to speak. "No," he said hoarsely. "It's okay. I know the guy." He gave a bitter laugh, rubbing his throat. "Family dispute."

Staring at Paul with confused sympathy, as if he were thinking how much it would suck to be related to Sawyer, the bartender finally looked down at him on the floor again, becoming bored. "Get him outta here then." He went back behind the bar, picking up the money. "And if he knows what's good for him, he won't come back."

Sawyer felt someone tugging at his arm. He tried to resist, but he was pulled to his feet. "Wouldn't have come back anyway," he muttered savagely in the direction of the counter as Paul shoved him toward the door. "Whiskey in this joint tastes like _piss._" He felt a little better after delivering this parting shot, a little more like himself. He always experienced a sort of high after he'd been in a bar fight, regardless of whether he won or lost.

After the darkness of the interior, the white, snow-filled street nearly blinded him. He shielded his eyes, squinting in pain. "_Christ_."

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Paul asked, pulling him along the sidewalk away from the bar. "You just got out of jail. You want to get thrown right back in?"

It sounded exactly like something Kate would say. Even the tone and the inflexion were the same. Sawyer found the paradox a bit eerie. He shook Paul's grip from his arm violently. "_Get off me_." He tried to keep his balance on his own, waiting for the fog to begin to lift in his head. He continued moving down the street, Paul keeping stride with him, much to his irritation. At the corner, he turned into what appeared to be some kind of park. He headed toward the interior of it, away from the view of the road. Scooping up a handful of snow from a bench, he rubbed it over his face and head, scrubbing it into his skin, letting the bracing cold help clear his mind. Damn, he needed to shave. But what difference did it make now?

Paul was watching him with a kind of detached curiosity. Sawyer glanced over at him with disdain. "You're lucky they took the gun. I promised her next time I saw you, I'd kill you."

With a short shake of his head and a tiny smile, Paul looked away. "Why am I not surprised? I guess it was hoping for too much to expect a little appreciation... a little _gratitude_, even."

"_Gratitude_?" Sawyer demanded, brushing the excess snow off. He didn't know what kind of response he'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. "For _what_?" He was dumbfounded by the remark. Did the guy maybe have a few screws loose? Because if he was going to stand here and tell him that he was better off without Kate, that he would have come to regret getting involved with her someday, and that this was the best thing that could have happened to him, then Sawyer would kill him with his bare hands, right here in this park.

Paul appeared to be confused by his reaction. "You think I did this just for the fun of it? It took a lot to get those records fixed like that. It wasn't easy." Now his tone changed a bit, as if was a little insulted. "And I paid for it out of my own pocket. Not that I expect you to care."

Glancing around him with a baffled air, as if the answer to this mystery might be lurking in the bushes, Sawyer started to wonder if maybe he'd actually gotten knocked out in the bar, and this was all some kind of dream or extended hallucination. That would explain why nothing was making any sense. "What _records_? What the hell are you talking about?"

Paul narrowed his eyes a bit, examining Sawyer as if he was starting to doubt his intelligence. Or maybe he was wondering exactly how much he'd had to drink. He spoke in a deliberately patient tone that implied he thought this should all be obvious. "The _crime scene _records.. the forensics stuff." He paused, throwing in for added emphasis, "From the ranger's station?"

Now Sawyer felt like he'd been hit by a thunderbolt. Time seemed to slow and then come to a grinding halt. The faint noise from the street faded away and all he could hear was his own sickening, methodic pulse roaring in his ears and his own careful breathing. Feeling a touch of lightheadedness, he reached out and leaned one arm on the back of the park bench. Looking away from Paul, he stared up at the mountain peak that rose into the sky toward one end of the town, hanging suspended in this horrible moment that had the potential to change his entire world. He waited until he thought he would be able to speak, not allowing his mind to venture onto anything important yet. Finally, he swallowed hard and managed to speak in a deadly low, deliberate voice. "Are you tryin' to tell me that all that stuff was _faked_?"

At first registering momentary puzzlement, Paul's expression changed to one of dawning realization. Everything seemed to click into place for him. "Oh, shit," he said quietly, with a grimace of regret, looking at Sawyer with something like understanding now. "You really thought she was dead, didn't you?"

Sawyer continued to watch him for a few seconds while his living nightmare shattered into fragments around him. His eyes glowed with intensity, and dozens of shades of emotions flashed across his countenance, jockeying for position. Then he doubled his fingers into a fist, took a couple of steps forward, swung his arm around, and punched Paul in the jaw as hard as he possibly could. His knuckles connected with a muffled, satisfying impact. Nothing had ever felt so good.

Paul's head swung around and he stumbled a little, but caught his balance and remained standing, then slowly straightened up again. Both men were breathing hard, watching each other warily. Bringing one hand up to touch the trickle of blood that came from the corner of his mouth, experimentally, Paul turned and spat some of it into the snow. He laughed a little and nodded as if he wasn't surprised, or particularly angry. "You feel better now?"

Sawyer didn't say anything. It was one of the first times in his life when he found himself completely incapable of any form of speech whatsoever. Fearing that he might pass out, he staggered back to the bench and sank down on it, leaning over and gripping his head in his hands.

For a few minutes, he stared at the snow underneath his feet. It was a bluish, shadowy white. Maybe Kate was looking at snow right now, too. She could have her eyes open, looking at snow. She could have her eyes open, because she was alive. Because she wasn't dead. She was somewhere right now, breathing. Her heart was beating. Blood was running through her veins. There was a baby growing inside her. Maybe she was thinking about him, about where he was right now. Or maybe she was just thinking that it was cold today, or that she needed to tie her shoe. It didn't matter. She was alive.

It had all been for nothing, then. All the torment, all the agony he'd just gone through over the past couple of hours - it was for nothing. In that short amount of time, reality itself hadn't changed one bit, but his perception of it had suffered a momentous upheaval, not just once, but twice. He'd processed her death, the same way he would have been forced to do if her coffin had been right in front of him, within view. It had been that real to him. So for all intents and purposes, she'd died and come back to life. And he had, as well. This already seemed more like a new life than a continuation of the old one. He felt like Scrooge on Christmas morning, or the Grinch after his heart grows. Also, accompanying these silly comparisons that floated, untethered and unrestrained, to the top of his mind, he felt like the most complete and insufferable _idiot _who had ever lived. Why had he been so quick to believe it? In hindsight, in his overwhelming, exhausted relief, it was easy to see that he should have been more skeptical. But the news had hit him with such numbing force that all ability to reason had left him. He pressed his fingers against his temples so hard that they turned white.

Paul had begun to approach hesitantly, and now stood in front of Sawyer, watching him. "Look, I'm sorry. I just figured... When you saw me in there earlier, I just assumed you knew what was going on. I didn't even think." He paused, and then went on like he was trying to justify himself. "You gave me that look, like you were in on it."

Sawyer finally raised his head up. He appeared to have just come out of a war zone. "I didn't give you_ any look_," he said with scorn.

Rolling his eyes wryly, Paul said, "All right. My mistake."

Good God, he _was _her brother. Sawyer hadn't fully believed it until now. But he could actually see the resemblance, and it was looking more and more likely that the story he'd told her about his origins was true. He didn't know if he was relieved or not. His thoughts were in such a hopeless jumble right now that he didn't know how he felt about anything. There was only one point he was able to focus in on. He looked up at Paul, speaking just barely above a whisper, hope and dread intermingled. "_Where is she_?"

Paul brushed off a pile of snow and sat down on the bench next to him, with a regretful air. "That, I can't help you with. As far as I know, you were the last one to see her."

Disappointed, Sawyer tried not to let it show. "Then how do you even know what happened?"

"Saw the helicopters, on my way back out of the forest. About five or six of 'em. I figured that could only mean one thing. Then I found out that they were using a local forensics lab up here to analyze the fire site, instead of bringing in their own team." He gave a short, sardonic laugh. "Cheap bastards."

Sawyer looked over at him, suspicious. "And how do you just _find out_ somethin' like that? What, are you on the mailing list? They print it in their annual holiday bulletin?"

As if he was trying to curb his exasperation, Paul explained. "I didn't just start looking for her recently, you know. When you've been doing this for as long as I have, you build up... resources."

"Well, ain't that just nice and _vague,_" Sawyer sneered. "What about the records, then? What kinda _resources _you use for that?"

Paul took a minute to answer, and when he did, it was with obvious reluctance. "I called in a bribe." He glanced at Sawyer. "You don't need the details."

But he wasn't going to be put off that easily. This whole thing still made him a bit unsettled. "Beg to differ with ya, there, Joe Friday," he said a threat in his tone. "I think I _do _need the details."

Paul sighed heavily. He took out a handkerchief and pressed it to the corner of his mouth, which still bled a little. "I have a contact in the agency. Couple years back, they tried to make an arrangement with me. They wanted to use me to get to her, through her mother. It was complicated." He was quiet for a second, as if remembering something unpleasant. "Anyway, it didn't work out, and we parted ways. But this one officer..." Here he stopped himself, refusing to give any more information. "Let's just say he owed me."

"_Let's just say _you're a moron," Sawyer echoed with contempt. "Everybody knows you can't hinge somethin' this elaborate on a bribe. What if he talks?" This was likely a minor point, but in his euphoria at the news he'd just received, he had to anchor himself by being pissed off about _something_.

"He won't. Believe me. I've got enough dirt on him that it could destroy his entire career. He's got everything to lose, and nothing to gain. You think I would have risked it if I wasn't sure it was safe?" Paul actually seemed offended by this. "Even if they get suspicious and retrace their steps, all the details'll check out. I made sure of it. Everything's there except for the original bodily remains, which were unfortunately... _compromised_." He gave Sawyer a meaningful look, enjoying this. "Employee mishandling. It's a shame."

"What _remains_?" Sawyer asked, baffled. "Wasn't nobody in there but me and her."

"Yeah, there was, actually. The corpse was found in the corner of the structure. DNA evidence seemed to indicate it was a bear... most likely a grizzly." Paul continued, clearly amused by his joke. "Poor bear." He shook his head in mock regret. "Hope he didn't suffer."

Sawyer gave a scoff of irritated relief, remembering their makeshift coat rack. For a second there, he'd actually been worried. He looked out over the park again, quiet for a second. The more he allowed himself to accept the fact that he'd been wrong about Kate, the more he was able to shake off the last remaining vestiges of the despair that had oppressed him earlier. He felt like he'd lived through an entire lifetime's emotional ups and downs in one day. Was it possible that his hair would turn gray from all this? He wouldn't be surprised.

He turned to Paul, suddenly annoyed by the realization that all this had come about by the aid of someone he hated. If it had been done his way, he wouldn't have had to go through so much distress. He would have been in control, rather than a helpless pawn. "I had a plan, you know," he told him. "You think I was just sitting in there waitin' for your ass to show up? I didn't need your help."

"What _plan_? Paul looked at him like he was insane. "Let me guess - you thought you'd try to use their blackmail tactics against them, right?" He laughed a little, dismissing it. "It wouldn't have worked, man."

Sawyer glared at him, pissed that this _was _in fact what he'd been planning, and that it did sound a little naive from this perspective. "It was more complicated than that," he muttered.

"Okay, so let's say you managed to do it... managed to find her and shake them off your trail one more time. Then what? You just keep running? Try to find another place to hide? It's better this way," he emphasized. "She's dead to them, now. At least she has a chance! Isn't that what you want?"

Sawyer maintained a sullen silence, not willing to concede the truth of these words, even though he knew they were right. She _did _have a chance now. They both did. A chance to maybe, just maybe, have some kind of normal life together. But his pride was still getting in the way of letting him admit it. Because damn it, he'd wanted to save her _himself_. It was completely childish and petty, but there it was. He'd wanted to do it on his own. He never got to be the hero.

Paul stood up. "You know what, forget it. I didn't do this for you. I had no idea they'd let you walk. That was just a... a _bonus_, I guess." He said this with distaste, as if he wasn't at all sure that he considered it a bonus, or anything of the sort. "I did it for her."

"Why?" Sawyer demanded distrustfully. He sat up straighter, interested. "Why are you all of a sudden so keen on helpin' her out? What's in it for you?"

Paul examined the splotch of blood on the handkerchief, then carefully folded it and put it back in his pocket. He seemed to be honestly trying to formulate an answer to the question. Finally, he looked back down at Sawyer. "Haven't you ever done anything you regretted? Something you wished you could make up for, if it wasn't too late?"

Sawyer's eyes registered hidden pain, but the corners of his mouth turned up with a hint of a cynical smile. His voice was quiet. "It's _always _too late."

Returning this expression, but not as if he agreed with him, Paul replied, "Maybe you're right." He glanced over his shoulder, like he was about to start walking, and his voice took on a tone of finality. "So, anyway, at least you know the details now. If you come across her again, tell her... I don't know." He paused. "Think of something really profound, and tell her I said it." Turning, he started to leave, but then stopped himself and spoke to Sawyer one more time with wounded sarcasm. "Oh, and you might want to work on your _Thank You _technique. Doesn't seem like you've had much practice."

Sawyer sent a withering look after him, but then dropped his gaze, a little ashamed of himself. This man had pretty much just restored his life to him, intact and with more potential than it had ever had before, when he'd thought there was nothing left of it. He probably shouldn't be acting like such a dick. But it was hard to break old habits.

As he watched Paul cross the park to leave, it suddenly occurred to him that he had absolutely no idea what his next step should be. He had no money and no means to get anywhere. He was stranded in an unfamiliar city, in an unfamiliar country, surrounded by strangers. He couldn't tell anybody the truth, and coming up with a believable story in time to accomplish what he needed to accomplish would be nearly impossible. Since they'd been so close to their destination when everything fell to pieces, he had to assume that Kate would have attempted to make her way there, for at least a temporary haven. She was too smart to try to come back south on foot. But how the hell was he supposed to get up there?

With the knowledge of his helplessness weighing him down, his determination to find her became even more fierce and insistent. After being so convinced that he'd lost her, his sudden need to see her - to prove to himself once and for all that she was okay, that she was really and truly _alive _- was like a physical pain in his chest. His heart beat faster just thinking about it, as if he could make her appear here in front of him by sheer force of will. He wanted her _right now_. He wanted to bury his nose in her neck and inhale her scent, he wanted to listen to the sound of her voice and then kiss her until she was low on oxygen. He wanted to do things to her that would make her toes curl and the blood rush to her face. Then he just wanted to hold her and never, ever let go of her again. Every second that passed without her now was torture.

At the same time he realized his overpowering need, he also realized that he couldn't manage it alone. He was going to have to rely on someone else, a situation that he'd always detested. But at this point, he was practically past caring. She was worth anything he had to do to get to her.

Paul was nearing the street now. Sawyer stood up, cupping his hands to his mouth. "Hey!"

He turned. When he saw who'd yelled, he came back a few steps, cautiously. "Yeah?"

Forcing himself to go on, Sawyer tried to sound somewhat friendly. "You still got your car up here, by any chance?"

Paul came back closer to him, so that he wouldn't have to shout so loud. "No. It was at the accident scene, remember? I can't get it back. I bought a jeep... it's at the bar." He paused, confused. "Why?"

Sawyer looked down at the ground, stalling. God, he hated this. With a complete lack of enthusiasm, he raised his head back up. "Because I need your help."

Without saying anything, Paul continued to watch him, patient.

"I need you to help me find her." He said this with urgency, trying to keep it as simple as possible. Then he waited for a response, apprehensive.

After what seemed an eternity, Paul nodded once, shortly, and then turned and started walking again. Breathing out in relief, Sawyer trudged after him, catching up with him near the street.

Keeping at an aloof distance, and without acknowledging each other, both men headed back toward the parking lot of the bar. The late afternoon sun was just sinking below the horizon when they drove out of Whitehorse and started north.


	34. Chapter 34

I'm supposed to free up the phone line _immediately_, so I'm going to copy and paste these opening remarks from L-F:

This is sort of a moving-the-plot-along chapter... The emotional pitch has been so high in these last few updates that this one might seem very low-key and pedestrian. But we're getting there, folks, we're getting there. ;)

Also, the character of Alicia is for some UNFATHOMABLE reason played, in my head, by the actress Mary Steenburgen. (She was the mom in Joan of Arcadia, she was Clara in Back to the Future 3, umm... the horny married lady in What's Eating Gilbert Grape. Lol. And some other stuff.) I don't have any idea why, but that's who came to me when I first conceived the character, and I can't picture anyone else, try as I might.

(divider bar is STILL not working for me... this is really starting to get on my nerves)

**Chapter 34**

When Kate opened her eyes, she found herself staring at a Christmas tree that reached nearly to the ceiling. It was decorated with ornaments and a light sprinkling of tinsel, and strung with both white and colored lights that sparkled and gleamed in the dim interior. There were a few presents underneath, wrapped in red paper and cheap ribbon, and a delicate-looking angel perched on the very top. She registered it all and understood what it was with her senses, rather than her rational thoughts. The entire effect was impressive and a bit overwhelming. She could tell it was a real tree by the fresh evergreen smell that filled the room.

But what room was it? Where _was _she? For the moment, she tried to hold off the point when she would have to answer that question. If she allowed her vision to blur just a bit, then she could almost pretend that this was the place she'd been trying so hard to reach. Maybe they'd made it, after all, and everything from these past few weeks was just a bad dream brought on by stress. Maybe Sawyer would come into the room any minute now, bringing her coffee in bed. She would tell him about her nightmare and he would make her laugh about it. She closed her eyes again and listened for his steps with pitiful optimism.

It was no use, though. If she was honest with herself, she knew that she wasn't even in a bed. She could tell by the cushions behind her back that she was on a couch. This was someone's living room. But her thoughts upon waking were so foggy and confused that she couldn't figure out whose living room it could possibly be. Did she have amnesia? Why didn't she recognize this place? She shifted, trying to pull herself into a sitting position, and felt a sharp stab of pain in her ankle. Lifting the quilt that covered her, she saw her foot and lower leg wrapped in tan cloth bandages, propped up on a pillow at the end of the sofa.

Then, triggered by this image, it all came flooding back. She remembered jumping from the burning ranger's station and seeing Sawyer being arrested, her lonely and half-delirious trek through the forest, and the badly planned journey down the side of a hill that had ended with her sliding into a chasm too deep to climb out of. And hadn't there been people who came down after her? She tried to recall them in detail.

Much of this effort was saved her, however, by the sudden appearance of a pony-tailed blonde head peeking over the armrest at the opposite end of the couch. It was a little girl, probably about seven or eight years old. Kate now vaguely remembered that this was the girl who'd found her, and who'd called out to her father for help. They must have taken her back to their own home. With this knowledge, a dead weight of fear settled in her heart. Did they _know_, then? Did they know who she was? And if not, how long would it be before they found out?

"You slept a loooong time," the little girl said, still watching her. She sounded impressed. "It got dark again."

It _was _dark in here, Kate realized. In this room, only the Christmas tree lights were on, and the windows were black and edged in frost. She must have slept through all the daylight hours, then. The realization made her irritated with herself. As if she had time for the luxury of _sleep _right now, with the mess she'd gotten herself into.

Tentatively, the girl came out from behind the end of the couch and stood over to the side of Kate, examining her with straightforward, unashamed curiosity. "My dad carried you down the mountain and your hair was dragging the ground... like this." To demonstrate, she bent forward until her head was upside down, letting her straggly blonde curls brush the carpet. Then she stood back up, saying with admiration, "I bet it's _real _dirty now.

Despite the peril of her circumstances, Kate couldn't resist a tiny smile. "Just between you and me, I think it probably already was." This was unfortunately the truth. She didn't even know how long it had been since she'd had an actual shower.

Encouraged by the friendly response, the girl came even closer to Kate, balancing on the edge of the couch. "What's your name?"

Her list of aliases ran through her head, and she tried to select one. But with that trusting, forthright gaze on her, she couldn't seem to manage it. She surprised herself by whispering softly, "It's Kate."

Biting her lip, the girl considered this. "Do people call you Katie, ever?"

"They used to." Kate looked down at the quilt covering her lap with a hint of wistfulness, then back up. "Nobody does anymore."

"Because my name is Grace and sometimes people call me Gracie." With a wrinkle of her nose, she added, "I don't like it."

As if on cue, a woman's voice called from another room. "Gracie? What are you doing in there?"

"_See_?" The girl raised her eyebrows dramatically for emphasis. Then she stood and walked toward a short hallway, yelling with boisterous volume, "She's awake, Mom!" She hopped back to Kate. "I was supposed to tell my mom when you woke up," she explained. "I forgot."

The woman came into the room, slowing down and smiling when she saw that Kate was really awake and sitting up. "Oh. Hello." It was too dark in here to make out details, but she seemed to be around forty or so, tall and somewhat angular, with dark hair twisted up into a bun. Her eyes were kind and her voice warm.

"Hi," Kate answered. So far, so good. These people weren't showing any fear toward her. They probably didn't know anything. _Yet_.

"How do you feel?" the woman asked, sitting down on a footstool in front of the sofa. Grace leaned against her mother and chewed on the end of her own ponytail, still fascinated by Kate.

"Okay. A little sore is all."

"I re-wrapped your ankle," the woman said, folding the blanket back to make sure the bandages were still tight. "It's just a sprain, but it's a pretty bad one. You should probably keep off of it for a few days."

That most certainly wasn't going to happen. But she decided that now wasn't the time to say so. "Thank you," she said, trying to sound grateful.

"Her name's Kate," Grace announced. "But don't call her Katie, because people don't call her that anymore. And she doesn't like it," she threw in for good measure.

Ignoring her daughter with easy, amused tolerance, the woman asked Kate, "Do you know where you are, by any chance?"

She considered lying, but what good would it do? It would be easier to stick to honesty, at least until she got a handle on the situation. "Not really," she admitted.

In a pleasant voice, the woman explained. "My name is Alicia Morris. My husband Mark owns this land... we run a mining operation here. Or at least we're _trying _to," she added as an aside, glancing heavenward wearily as if there were more meaning behind those words than she wanted to dwell on. "He said he found you over on the other side of the lake, halfway down the hill." She went on hesitantly, feeling her way forward. "I thought you might have been looking for someone here... one of the miners, maybe? If you tell me who it is, I can go and get him..."

"I'm not looking for anybody," Kate interrupted, shaking her head to negate the idea. Then she realized she would have to elaborate. "I just sort of... stumbled on this place by accident."

"Did somebody hit you?" Grace suddenly asked, before her mother could manage to ask _how _Kate had stumbled on a place so far away from anywhere.

Kate turned her attention to the little girl, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"There's a hand print on your face." Grace stepped forward and rested her palm lightly against Kate's left cheek. Her fingers smelled like cherry cough drops. Right... _there_," she said.

"Oh," Kate muttered, suddenly realizing what she was talking about. She felt herself blush a little, which annoyed her. How the hell was she supposed to explain this? Of course they had the wrong idea, but could she really blame them? Bringing her own hand to the side of her face, she wondered if this was the closest she would ever come to making contact with Sawyer again. Even though he wasn't here, he'd managed to embarrass her one last time, though he was guilty of nothing more than trying to save her life. "It's not what it looks like," she told them evasively.

The woman, Alicia, apparently didn't believe this. She looked at Kate with concern, but then smiled politely, letting the matter drop. "Well, it's none of our business." Turning to her daughter, she brushed her loose hair out of her eyes and asked quietly, "Gracie, honey, would you go and play in your room for awhile, please?"

The girl faced her mother stubbornly, pleading and arguing without words, her expression one of melodramatic pathos.

"_Now_," Alicia urged with a smile, giving her a gentle shove toward the hallway. "You can come back later."

Grace dropped her heartbroken act as quickly as she'd assumed it. "Will you color with me tonight?" she asked Kate.

She gave her a nod of assent, trying to smile. "Of course."

Delighted, the girl could barely restrain her enthusiasm as she ran toward her bedroom. Her mother watched to made sure she was really gone, then turned her attention back to Kate again.

"I'm sorry. It's just that we're so isolated up here, she doesn't meet many new people. She gets a little overexcited when a stranger turns up."

"Makes sense," Kate said. "She seems like a good kid, though."

"She is." Apparently trying to hide how pleased she was by this compliment, Alicia changed the subject. "Would you like something to eat? I didn't want to wake you, but I've got lots of macaroni casserole left over from dinner. It's nothing special, but if you're hungry..."

"I'd love some." Kate didn't need to hear any detailed descriptions. If it was liver and onions, which she detested more than any other food in the world, she would have eaten it with wholehearted gratefulness. If it was cat food, she probably still would have eaten it.

"You stay right here," Alicia said with solicitous firmness. "I'll bring you a plate." Standing up, she switched on a lamp, and then stopped, drawing in her breath and laying her hand on her stomach. "_Whew_," she gasped. "I think somebody else wants to say hi to you, too." In the brighter light, Kate suddenly realized that the woman was pregnant, probably about five or six months. She hadn't even noticed. For some reason, it gave her an uncomfortable shock.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Alicia replied, smiling. "Just some kicking." She continued on around the couch. Kate turned her head, watching her move into the kitchen, which was basically part of this same room, only divided by a section of cabinets and an enameled bar with stools. From the shape of the interior, she assumed she was in one of the mobile homes she'd seen from high above the lake. It was tiny, but surprisingly comfortable and cheerful.

Well, cheerful for the _most _part. There were a few inconsistencies, like a display cabinet of guns in one corner of the living room. The woman's husband was probably a hunter, or at the very least, he enjoyed a wide range of target shooting. Kate's gaze lingered on the cabinet for a moment. She was glad she'd noticed it. Then she turned back toward the kitchen, trying to be inconspicuous.

"When are you due?" she asked, in order to make polite conversation while the woman got her food ready.

Alicia pulled a glass dish from the refrigerator and peeled back the aluminum foil covering. "April, hopefully. Though with the way he's growing, I wouldn't be surprised if it's sooner."

Kate glanced at the woman's stomach. "It's a boy?" she forced herself to ask.

"Yes. We made sure of it this time." She spooned a huge helping of food onto a plate. "With Grace, we were so convinced she'd be a boy... we bought everything blue. I just had that _feeling_, you know?" She glanced up at Kate. "I thought women were always right about those things. But then.." She shrugged, laughing a little. "Well, she was a girl. So I guess instinct isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Kate considered this idea. If it was true, then maybe she was wrong as well. But then again, what difference did it make? She was only the incubator, now. It would be someone else's baby. She had to get used to thinking of it that way. In fact, she would ask them not to tell her the sex, when it was born. It would make things much easier if she never knew. Then she could forget about it completely and move on with what was left of her life.

Alicia was still talking, oblivious to Kate's sobering thoughts. "To tell you the truth," she said, "I still can't believe it happened again. We tried for so long to have Gracie... We'd about given up hope, when I finally got pregnant. I was thirty-six, so I just assumed she'd be the only one. This one..." She patted her midsection. "It was a bit of a surprise."

With a hint of a sardonic smile, Kate looked down and said quietly, "_Yeah_... I know the feeling."

Turning from the microwave, Alicia gave her a curious, intrigued look, but didn't press for details. "Well," she said with a sigh. "Listen to me rambling on about myself. I guess my daughter isn't the only one craving company." Lifting a dishtowel, she appeared to suddenly think of something, and seemed ashamed that she hadn't brought it up before. "Is there anybody you'd like to call... to get in touch with? There must be someone out there worried sick about you."

"There isn't," Kate assured her quickly. "I'm on my own."

Going through the motions of wiping down the countertop, but with a troubled expression, she finally looked at Kate again. "I don't mean to pry, but how on earth did you manage to get all the way out here by yourself at this time of year?"

Kate swallowed imperceptibly, preparing herself to deal with the onslaught of questions she'd been expecting for some time now. It was inevitable. "Actually," she began, knowing that the trick to lying in a believable way was to stay as close to the truth as possible, "I _was _traveling with someone... when I started out. But then we sort of got separated, and... I decided to continue on by myself." She managed a casual expression, with great effort. "I'm kind of a loner anyway. So it's no big deal."

"How did you get separated?"

Biting her lip, she tried to think of something. "Well, we'd been having some problems... a _lot _of problems, really. And things finally just... came to a boiling point. It's kind of a blur in my mind, to be honest." This was all basically true, although so vague as to be rendered meaningless. She prayed the subject would be dropped now.

The microwave timer dinged, but Alicia didn't move toward it. She watched Kate, steadily, with uncanny perception in her gaze. "Are you running from someone?" she almost whispered.

Surprised and unnerved, Kate wasn't sure how to respond. She dropped her eyes, but not fast enough. Alicia had probably seen enough to know she'd hit on a truth. But the funny part was, it was the _wrong _truth. She realized that this woman thought she was a battered wife, or girlfriend, running from her abuser. Kate almost laughed at the absurdity, the sheer _irony_, of the misunderstanding. But with the scanty information she'd given about herself, what other interpretation was there?

"I guess you could say that," she finally replied, still not meeting Alicia's eyes. In fact, it was probably in her best interest to let people think this was the case. It was much safer than the alternative. And if they felt sorry for her, they wouldn't be as likely to ask nosey questions.

And this woman _did _feel sorry for her. She could see the sympathy in her face. Kate only wished that she deserved it.

"Well, you're safe here," Alicia told her, reassuringly. "I'm just glad Mark found you when he did. If you'd been out there a few hours longer..." She trailed off with a weak smile. "It's best not to think about it." She finally took the plate from the microwave.

Kate decided to venture a question before she lost her nerve. She spoke in a disinterested manner, as if she didn't particularly care about the answer. "Do you happen to know anything about a private wildlife preserve near here? The guy who lives on it... I think his name is Clifford something?"

"Oh, of course," Alicia said, nodding her assent. "That'd be Clifford Whitaker. He's the only real neighbor we've got, other than the workers staying at the job site, and they're not exactly what you'd call _neighborly_," she said with a wry look. "The preserve is just through the pass, about a day's hike from here."

"What's he like?" Kate asked, hoping she still sounded casual.

"Cliff?" Alicia considered a moment. "He's a wonderful man. A little _kooky_, you know?" she added, making a face. "But _very _kind. Grace just loves him. He's about the closest thing she's got to a grandpa, living up here away from our family." She paused, looking a bit puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason, really." But Kate saw something more was required in explanation. So she stammered, awkwardly, "It's just that I've always been interested in..." She tried to think fast. "In caribou." Then she grimaced immediately, mouthing _Idiot _to herself. _In caribou_? Who the hell was interested in caribou? She was glad Alicia's back was turned.

"I see," she said, giving Kate a strange look, but not a suspicious one. "Well, it's a beautiful place he's got. All kinds of animals... Just about everything you could imagine. I swear, the man would take in an injured _snake _if he found it on his doorstep."

She filled a glass with water and placed this, along with the plate of food, onto a tray. Lifting it expertly, she carried it over and sat it on a low table at the side of the couch. Just as she did, the front door over on the other side of the living room swung open, and a man stepped inside, stamping the snow from his boots onto a square mat laid down for that purpose.

"Oh, there you are," Alicia said, welcomingly. "This is my husband. Mark, this is... _Kate_, wasn't it?" she asked, double-checking.

"Yeah," she agreed, wishing that she hadn't given her real name to the little girl. She held out her arm to shake hands as the man approached and leaned over the back of the couch.

"Hello there. Glad to see you're awake." He smiled. "I wanted to bring a doctor in, but my wife said you just needed rest. She was right, like usual."

The man was soft-spoken, almost shy, and going a bit bald. His entire demeanor radiated delicacy and respect, and he seemed like the type who never lost his temper or raised his voice. He was absolutely nothing like Sawyer. But then, Kate reflected, why _should _he be? She was irritated with herself for even having thought it. Was she going to do this for the rest of her life? Compare every man she met to him? Because there was nobody out there like Sawyer, _anywhere_. It was ridiculous to expect there would be.

"Thank you so much," she said. "For what you did... Bringing me back down here and everything."

He brushed this off with a wave of his hand, seemingly embarrassed and anxious to change the subject. "How'd you manage to get way up here in this corner of the Yukon, anyway? We don't have too many visitors."

She took a deep breath, dreading having to go over her story again. What exactly had she said last time? She had to make sure she didn't change any details. "I..." she began falteringly.

"She was on one of those wilderness survival vacations," Alicia interrupted her, mistaking the cause of her fear but understanding the root of the emotion. She gave Kate a meaningful look, enjoying this harmless little deception of her husband. "You know, where you pay thousands of dollars for them to drop you off in the middle of nowhere and let you have the privilege of finding your way back?"

Kate stared at her, amazed that anyone would do her a favor like this. She gave her a small, thankful smile, which the other woman seemed to understand.

"Ahhh... thrill-seeker, huh?" Mark asked, not suspecting anything at all.

"Afraid so," Kate agreed.

"Well, you're not the first one to end up here. It's not easy to make it out there on your own."

"Yeah," she said, pretending to be sheepish. "I realize that now."

There was a slightly awkward silence, and then Alicia gathered her wits about her. "Well," she said, straightening up. "We'll leave you alone to eat, before that gets cold again."

"Nice to meet you," Mark said, nodding.

"You too."

The husband and wife went over into the kitchen, and Kate started to attack the meal. She didn't even care what was on the plate. The simple act of putting warm food in her mouth was a luxury she'd almost forgotten how to enjoy. She tried to eat slowly, but it was difficult. Her stomach urged her forward with strong arguments.

When she'd been eating for a few minutes and had made some progress on the casserole, she saw a blur of motion off to the side and turned her head. Grace had emerged from the small hallway and run at full speed into the kitchen, apparently after hearing her father's voice. She wrapped her arms around his legs, and he smoothed her hair down, still facing his wife. Alicia was pressing his free hand against her stomach, laughing a little. He moved his fingers slightly, with a secret pleasure on his face, like he was listening to something far away. Then he raised his daughter's hand and pressed it into the same spot, and she nodded excitedly. The four of them stood in a tightly compressed group, in a corner near the stove, speaking in hushed, awed voices. A pocket of warm light seemed to surround them.

Watching the scene, Kate's expression was a complicated mixture of profound sadness and bitterness. She slowly lowered the fork back onto the plate, her appetite gone. With a painful lump in her throat, she turned her head away from the family in their kitchen, unable to look at them anymore. She felt like an intruder, spying on something that didn't concern her in the slightest. These people lived in a world she would never be a part of. She hated them for their simple happiness, for their safety and comfort here in this freezing wilderness, for how secure they were in the fact that they wouldn't lose each other. She hated them because they had a future together.

To give herself something to focus on, she thought about her own immediate future. _San Diego_. That's where she would go. It came to her like a revelation, unrelated to anything at all. There was no particular reason for her to choose that city, but there it was, already chosen, and she hadn't even known it. She'd never been to San Diego, but she'd always wanted to see it. So that's where she'd go. She'd get an apartment, something near the water. It would be small, but with spacious rooms that flowed into each other. The walls would be white, and the clean sunlight would pour in. She would decorate it with contemporary art and sleek, modern furniture. No natural wood, no braided rugs, and no antiques. Nothing to bring back memories. It would be as different from Sawyer's house as she could possibly make it. And she would have it all to herself. She would only have to shop for herself, to cook for herself, and she would be surrounded by peace and quiet. All her time would be her own. She could buy a huge bed and sleep in the middle of it, hoarding all the covers without bothering a soul.

She stared down at her lap, picturing this future life with fierce determination. If she concentrated, if she really made the effort, then she could almost convince herself that she was looking forward to it, that it was something she really wanted. _Almost_.

"Does everything taste okay?"

Kate looked up to find Alicia standing near her, watching her with a worried expression. Her husband and daughter were just going out the front door, both layered in thick coats and scarves.

"It's really good," Kate said with a convincing tone. "I just got full a lot faster than I thought I would." She set the plate back onto the tray and picked up the glass of water, wanting to have something in her hands.

"How long were you on foot?" Alicia sat down again, still concerned.

"A few days. I think." This wasn't a lie, at least. She really wasn't positive how long she'd been on foot. The days and nights had been passing in such a terrible, incomprehensible rhythm that she didn't know if she'd be able to calculate them, even if she wanted to.

She took a long drink, savoring the ease of swallowing water that was already melted and not in snow-form. When she lowered the glass, she was quiet for a minute, thinking. Then she sighed and made a decision, right on the spot. She decided that this was the end of the line for her northward journey. She'd only been hoping to reach the preserve in order to obtain help in making it out of here. If these people could assist her with that, then there was no need to go further.

"How do I go about getting back down south?" she asked abruptly.

Alicia seemed a bit taken aback. "How _far _south?"

"As close to the border as possible."

Confused, she asked, "Oh, are you American?"

"No," Kate lied. "But... I have friends there. I could stay with them."

Leaning back a little, Alicia seemed to consider. "Well, this time of year, we're pretty cut off from the world up here. The mine workers will be flying down for their Christmas holiday in about two weeks. You could go along for the ride," she suggested.

"Two _weeks_?" Kate repeated, hoping her expression didn't register any of the horror she felt at those words. She tried to keep her voice calm and even. "There's nothing earlier than that?"

Alicia shook her head, apologetic. "Not really. Unless..." She paused, clearly not wanting to go on with what she'd been about to say. But Kate looked at her with such desperate interest that she didn't have any choice. "My husband has to meet with some of his investors in Seattle. He's leaving tomorrow, but he'll be _driving_," she emphasized, "and as bad as the roads are right now, you're in no condition to..."

"I'll go with him," Kate interrupted, practically jumping at the chance. She forced a smile. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"I don't think it's a good idea," Alicia said in a soft voice, trying to reason with her. "Your ankle..."

"It's not as bad as it looks," Kate insisted, becoming a little impatient. "I've been through much worse, believe me." She looked down at her hands, then back up, regretful. Her voice dropped to almost a whisper, pleading for understanding. "I can't stay here for two weeks."

"Are you worried about inconveniencing us? Because you shouldn't be."

"It isn't that. It's just that..." She tried to think of a way to phrase it that wouldn't be a complete and total untruth. "It isn't safe for me to stay here. For _me_, or for your family either. I wish I could be more specific."

Alicia seemed disappointed, but not terribly surprised. "If you're positive this is what you want to do..."

"I am."

She waited a second, then stood up, sighing. "Then I'll go and tell Mark he'll have a passenger." She looked back at Kate from the door, still sympathetic. "I hope by morning you'll reconsider, though."

Kate gave Alicia a feeble smile, but didn't say anything, waiting until she left the room. It was funny that she'd only known the woman for about an hour, yet she already felt that she was something of a friend. She felt bad about refusing such a kind offer of hospitality, but there was no help for it. It was the way things had to be.

And now, there was something else that had to be done.

When she was positive she was alone in the house trailer, she pushed the quilt all the way off of herself and swung her legs over the edge of the sofa. Carefully, she stood, testing her ankle to see how bad it was. After so many hours of being elevated and wrapped properly, it didn't cause much pain at all. That would probably change tomorrow, when she was on her feet for a longer period, but she'd just have to deal with it. Nobody had ever died from a sprain. She'd be fine.

Moving quietly, she made her way over to the gun cabinet. If she was going to be on the road again, there was one item that would be essential for her to have. She reached up and checked the padlock. It was fastened tightly, as she'd suspected. Glancing around the room, her eye came to rest on a small basket on an end table next to a rocking chair. In it were a few bottles of fingernail polish, an emery board, and a nail file. She got the file and brought it back to the cabinet, quickly. Angling it up into the keyhole of the padlock, she twisted it with expert movements until she felt a satisfying click. Then she yanked downward, and the lock popped open.

Opening the case, she scanned past the rifles, not interested in them. Below the larger weapons, there was a black velvet cloth. Lifting it, she saw three handguns nestled into molds underneath, each slightly different than the others. She picked one up, checking to see if it was loaded.

A squeak from the direction of the front door made her turn her head, nervous. She held perfectly still for a few seconds, breathing fast and shallow, her pupils dilated. After waiting for a tense interval during which nothing else happened, she went back to what she was doing, trying to hurry. The second pistol she picked up was loaded. She pulled the clip out and reinserted it, making sure, then covered the other two guns with the cloth again.

Looking around her one more time, she closed the cabinet door softly and reattached the padlock. Depositing the nail file in the basket, she lowered herself onto the couch again. Her backpack had been placed by someone on the floor just under her pillow, and she pulled the top open now, sliding the gun inside but leaving it uncovered, within easy access. She drew the drawstring lightly closed, then leaned back against the cushions and exhaled heavily, exhausted and relieved. She let her eyes close for a second.

When she opened them again, Grace was standing in the doorway, hopeful. She didn't seem to suspect anything at all. "Wanna color now?" she asked, her cheeks pink from the cold air she'd just come out of.

Kate smiled a little, sadly. "Sure," she said.

The little girl's face lit up. "I'll go get my crayons!" She disappeared in the direction of her bedroom.

Her expression lapsing back into seriousness, Kate glanced at the clock. It was 8:30 pm. They would probably leave in the morning. That meant that in about twelve hours, she would be well on her way south, away from this part of the world. She would leave behind everything that had happened to her here, and she would try not to look back. She was more than ready to go. She would have gone right now, right this second, if she'd had the chance. There was no sense waiting around, or continuing on to the preserve, as she'd planned. What was the point? It wasn't like anybody was expecting her there. The only people looking for her were the ones she couldn't allow to find her. Leaving tomorrow was the best opportunity she could hope for.

Waiting for Grace to come back into the room, she stared at the Christmas tree again and let her vision become slightly unfocused so that the lights danced and shifted in a kaleidoscope of bright, festive color. It was both beautiful and somehow heartbreaking all at the same time. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't.

_Twelve hours_, she told herself, breathing deeply. _Only twelve more hours_.


	35. Chapter 35

I must apologize in advance for the insane length of this chapter - I might end up dividing it in two and calling the third section Chatper 36, but for now, I like the three parts together as a whole. I know this is a bad time to be updating, with so many people on vacation, but for those of you who are still around, please let me know if you liked it or not. This chapter really drained me! But in a good way... I think. ;)

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**Chapter 35**

_Should the monkey's pants be blue, or red?_ Kate wondered. It was a tough question. Especially considering the fact that monkeys didn't generally _wear _pants. There was no evidence to base her decision on. She would have to go it alone. Both colors had their advantages, of course. Blue was more subtle, but red had a certain flair to it. Finally, after some intense pondering on the subject, she reached for the blue crayon.

"Good choice," Grace said, approvingly.

"Thanks," Kate muttered.

This was the second time that they'd colored together. The first had been last night, before the little girl had gone to bed. Kate had tried to sleep as well, just to make the time pass, though she'd only dozed fitfully. Then this morning, she'd agreed to play Barbies with barely suppressed reluctance. It wasn't an activity she was very familiar with. As a child, she'd never owned one of the dolls. She'd preferred to spend her time outside - with the animals, or in a tree. Today, though, she'd finally given in and played with one for the first time in her life. It wasn't as bad as she'd thought it would be. She'd chosen Cowgirl Barbie, and had immediately twisted its hair back into a bun to keep it out of the way. Grace had watched with puzzled interest, and then imitated her, doing the same thing to her doll.

Now, they were back to coloring again. Alicia had attempted to keep her daughter from bothering Kate, but she'd protested that it was no big deal, saying she didn't mind. And the truth was, she really didn't. It was a wonderful distraction. There was nothing like interacting with a seven-year-old to keep your mind off your own problems, she reflected. Plus, it made the time go by faster, which was something she desperately wanted. The twelve hour interval she'd counted on had already come and gone. They'd been unable to leave this morning because of a complication over at the mine, and now Mark was outside, attempting to get things ready so that they could go before dark. Kate tried to keep herself from glancing at the clock. It wasn't the actual time that bothered her. It was just that the longer she was here, the more likely it was that she would be discovered.

A patch of white winter sunlight fell in a rectangle over the section of carpet they were stretched out on. It was blindingly bright. Grace reached over into the shadowed area where the crayons were scattered, then examined Kate's work. "I stay in the lines better than you do," she said in a simple voice, without a trace of boasting.

Kate gave her a wry smile. "Yeah... I was never very good at staying in the lines." The girl couldn't possibly know how true those words were, or how many things they applied to.

Grace watched her, thoughtfully. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Keeping her eyes on the page she was filling in, Kate tried to maintain an even, untroubled expression. It was amazing how painful even the most basic questions could be these days. "No," she said softly. "Do you?"

"Uh-huh. His name is Cole. I met him last summer when we were visiting Grandma in Toronto." Leaning forward confidentially, she added, "He has a _tattoo_."

Kate laughed, the first one that had felt genuine in a long time. She wrinkled her nose at the girl. "Really?"

"Yep. It's just the stick-on kind, though," Grace admitted, going back to coloring. "But he gets in trouble a lot. He was _always _grounded."

"Yeah, well... you want to watch out for those bad boys," Kate said in a sad voice, looking at her wistfully. "They'll break your heart."

"Cole won't," Grace said, sure of herself. "I won't let him. We probably won't be able to go this year anyway. Because of the _baby_," she clarified, pronouncing the word with infinite disgust.

"That's _right_," Kate said, as if she'd just remembered. "I hear you're getting a little brother this spring."

"Yeah." She sighed dramatically, as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Not too excited about it?"

Grace shrugged. "I wanted a sister."

"Oh," Kate replied, nodding in understanding. She picked up another crayon. "Well, brothers can be fun too, right?"

"Do you have one?"

She started to say no again, but then stopped, reconsidering. "Actually, I do. Sort of."

"How do you _sort of _have a brother?" The little girl looked at her with skepticism.

"Well," she said, trying to think of a way to explain. "I didn't grow up with him. In fact, I didn't even know about him until just recently."

Grace thought about this for a few seconds. "Like because he was adopted?"

"Something like that," Kate agreed. There was no way, obviously, that she could hope to be more specific. Even in her own mind, the details were confusing.

"My mom is adopted," Grace said. "She has brothers and sisters that she doesn't know. She tries to find them sometimes, but she never can. It makes her really sad."

Kate glanced at the girl, impressed by her perception of what was probably a very dark issue for Alicia. "I bet it does."

Suddenly covering the corner of her paper with both hands, Grace demanded, "Don't look!" With infinite concentration, her tongue sticking out of one corner of her mouth, she wrote something. Then she tore the page from the coloring book and handed it to Kate. "There!" she exclaimed with a flourish.

It was a picture of a bright purple horse behind a pasture fence, standing against a green sky. In the bottom corner, written with large, childish block letters, were the words TO: CATE.

Kate took it from her, smiling with sincere pleasure. "It's for me?" She said nothing at all about the spelling of her name. "Thank you!"

Grace had no time for formalities, however. She turned the page. "Now I'm gonna do the goat," she announced, immediately attacking the poor animal with a pink crayon.

Laying the paper aside, Kate watched her for a few seconds. With only a little effort, she could almost pretend that this was her real life. This was _her _daughter, not someone else's. This was her house. Sawyer was outside somewhere, doing something that gave him an excuse to act like a man and avoid the indoors. But he was within reach, if she needed him, and he would come in soon enough. All the problems that had tormented their first few months together were in the distant past, and they rarely thought about it anymore. It was all okay now. What if it was possible to make something like that true by just believing in it hard enough?

It wasn't, of course. And up until just recently, it wasn't what she would have wished for, anyway. How ironic that only when she'd finally started to accept that future as something she might be able to handle, something she might even _want _- only then was the possibility of it ripped out of her grasp. Still, though, at this moment, when it was the furthest away it had ever been, it felt strangely within reach. Why was that?

Her poignant vision was shattered, suddenly, by the opening of the front door. Alicia stood there, breathless and with rosy cheeks. She gave Kate a friendly look. "Mark says he's just about ready to go. You can go on out if you want to. He apologizes for how long it's taking... the car needed a little more work than he thought."

"It's not a _car_, Mom, it's a _hummer_," Grace corrected her, not looking up.

"Well, I don't have to call it that," Alicia said with a roll of her eyes as she shut the door. She moved toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath, "_Gas-guzzling piece of_..."

"Daddy said we had to buy it because it's the only thing that we can drive up here in the winter. It costed a _lot _of money," Grace explained to Kate, stretching out the word _lot _into three syllables. "And we don't have much money to spare because the mine eats it all up and doesn't give any back, right Mom? It's like a black hole. If it keeps it up we'll barely make it another year without starving. We're at death's door as it is."

Kate tried not to laugh.

Alicia looked over the kitchen counter at them, mortified. "Grace Abigail Morris! Do you remember _every single word_ I say?"

"Yes," her daughter replied, with complete seriousness.

"Well, _stop it," _Alicia said with a smile, though clearly still embarrassed "I'm sure I was exaggerating. Things aren't _quite _that bad yet."

Standing up, Kate started to pull her coat on. She was anxious to be on the move. And she was now determined to leave a little money with the family for all their trouble, somehow. It wasn't as though she had a great deal to spare, but she could manage something. She knew instinctively that Alicia wouldn't accept it, and her husband probably wouldn't either, but maybe she could leave it in the car before she got out so that he wouldn't notice it right away.

Watching her, Grace's expression suddenly turned dark and gloomy. She rose to her feet and latched onto Kate's sleeve. "Do you _have _to go today?"

"I do," Kate told her gently, kneeling down to her level.

"If you stay, I'll let you sleep in my room," she offered, bargaining for time. "I'll sleep on the couch. I like the couch!"

"Oh, sweetie..." Kate said, feeling bad. "I don't mind the couch either. I wish I could stick around longer. But I just can't."

Unlike most children in the same situation, Grace didn't bother to ask why. Maybe she could tell that it wasn't likely to do any good. "Nobody ever stays here," she said bitterly, tears filling her eyes. Letting go of Kate's sleeve, she bent down and picked up the coloring book, tucking the picture of the horse back inside it and closing it with a bang. "You can't have your picture," she said in a defiant, upset voice, refusing to make eye contact again.

"Gracie!" Alicia said, shocked.

Ignoring her mother, she ran down the hall to her room, slamming the door after her. Kate watched after her, miserable. Slowly she stood up and lifted her backpack.

Alicia followed after her daughter and knocked softly, trying to placate her. "Don't you want to go down and say goodbye to your dad?"

"No!" came the shouted reply, muffled by the closed door. "Leave me alone!"

Sighing, Alicia closed her eyes for a second and then came back into the living room. "I'm sorry," she said to Kate. "She doesn't usually sulk like this."

Kate glanced toward the hallway again with regret. "I feel like it's my fault."

"Oh, not at all. She just gets lonely, sometimes." Alicia made an effort to sound lighthearted. "But she'll be fine in an hour. I'll get her to bake cookies with me, and she'll forget all about this." She glanced down at Kate's foot, changing the subject. "How's the ankle feel?"

"Good as new." Actually, it hurt like hell every time she stood up, but that didn't matter. It was the least of her problems.

"Well," Alicia said, not appearing completely convinced. "You should try to stay off of it as much as you can for the next few days."

Kate nodded in order to appease her. It was the simplest course of action. Awkwardly, she began, "I don't know how to thank you for everything..."

"Don't, then," Alicia interrupted, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. "It was our pleasure, really. Believe it or not, this'll probably turn out to be the highlight of the winter," she said with a laugh.

Kate smiled slightly. She imagined that once they discovered the gun missing from their cabinet, they would probably change their minds about that. Even though she'd be long gone by then, it bothered her more than she cared to admit that they would end up thinking the worst about her, probably believing that they'd had a close call, that they'd been in danger. There was no help for it, though. It was the story of her life.

"I guess I'll go on out," she said, looking toward the door.

Alicia nodded. "I already said goodbye to my husband, so I'll stay here with Grace. You just go right down the hill, and then around to the left a little... you'll see him."

"Okay." Then, in an impetuous move that surprised even herself, she reached out and gave the other woman a quick hug. It wasn't something she ever would have done in the past. She didn't know exactly where the impulse had come from.

Alicia didn't seem at all surprised, though. Only pleased. She gave her a warm smile, still with a hint of concern in it. "Wherever you're going, I hope you'll feel safe there."

"Me too," Kate agreed, just above a whisper. She swung the backpack onto her shoulder and opened the door, letting in a glare of light. "Bye."

"Good luck."

Shielding her eyes against the harsh brightness, she moved carefully down the snow-covered wooden steps of the small porch and took a deep breath. Only a few minutes more to wait, God willing.

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This was the end of the road.

Or at least the part of the road that was paved. From here on out, it turned into gravel, then presumably dirt, further on. Sawyer had been anticipating it for some time. He peered through the windshield, glad to see the change, even though he knew the drive would become rougher and that they would be forced to slow down considerably. But if it meant they were making progress toward the preserve, it didn't matter. Forward motion was all that counted.

"You want me to take it for awhile?"

Paul looked over at him with misgiving. "Are you used to driving on ice?"

"I'm from _Tennessee_."

"I guess that's a no, then," he replied, chuckling. "You should let me handle it. I know it seems slow this way, but it's better than getting stuck in the ditch."

Sawyer sighed heavily. He _hated _being a passenger. Grabbing the map, he examined it again, trying to distract himself.

"How much longer, you think?"

With an air of impatience, Paul shook his head. "Like I already told you, we're not gonna be able to get all the way to the preserve. The furthest the road goes is some little mining village, but it's probably not much of a road - especially not at this time of year. Chances are, we won't even make it _that _far. What we should do is turn around, try to rent a..."

"No," Sawyer growled, cutting him off. "We ain't turnin' around. Keep going."

Suppressing his frustration, Paul complied. The road stretched ahead into the mountains, growing more hilly and rough with every mile.

It was early afternoon, but after having been together since the previous evening, both men had had more than enough of one another's company. They'd taken turns driving northward through the night, one sleeping in the backseat while the other was at the wheel. This accomplished two things at once. It allowed them to conserve energy, but it also allowed them to avoid the necessity of speaking to each other. Today, though, the closer they got to where Sawyer imagined Kate might have gone, the less he was able to relax at all. And not being able to channel his pent-up anxiety into the act of driving made it even worse.

About an hour ago, they'd passed the site of the accident from last week. There was nothing much to see there - the wreckage had been cleared. Even the RV was gone. All that remained to indicate the spot were the skid marks the tires had caused leaving the road and the bruised and battered hillside that the motor home had plowed through on its way up the slope. With his jaw clenched, Sawyer had taken in the scene without emotion, letting his gaze linger on the gap in the trees where he and Kate had disappeared into the forest. Then he turned away, focusing on what was ahead.

Now, he began to fiddle with the radio dial, seeing if he could get anything to come in. Not because he particularly wanted to listen to music, but because it was something to do. As he leaned over toward the middle of the front seat, scanning past station after station of white noise, he noticed that Paul kept glancing down at him, surreptitiously.

"_What_?" Sawyer finally demanded, looking up at him.

"Nothing," Paul shrugged. Then he went on to prove this was a lie. "It's just..." He laughed a little. "When's the last time you had a shower, man?"

Sawyer glared at him. "I been a little_ preoccupied, _lately."

Without replying, Paul cracked the window a bit, letting in a stream of fresh, cold air. This of course pissed Sawyer off even more.

"You don't smell so hot yourself, Huckleberry. What is that, _Old Spice_?" he asked with contempt. "Haven't got a whiff of that since my grandpa keeled over in '72."

Paul smiled a little. "Try the FM band."

"What?"

He gestured toward the radio. "You're on the AM band. You won't get anything in, that way. You have to switch it over."

Irritated, Sawyer changed it to the more high-powered frequency. Most of the stations were still nothing but static, but he finally came across a voice. Turning it up a little, he listened. It seemed to be a weather report.

"...for the next few days, on average. So if you're enjoying these warmer temperatures, hurry and enjoy them while you can, because they won't be around much longer. The front moving in tonight will drop us down to far below freezing again, with more snow and ice expected, up to a meter deep in some areas. Unless you absolutely can't avoid it, this would be a good time to stay indoors. It could get dangerous out there, folks. Make sure to take the necessary precautions."

A commercial jingle came on, and Sawyer switched the whole damn thing off. He felt sick. Most likely, she wasn't still out there in the elements. But what if she _was_?

Paul seemed to be thinking along the same lines. After a few seconds of tense silence, he said, "Well, that idea sucked."

Sawyer didn't bother to reply. They rode without speaking for awhile. The terrain was getting more and more rough.

Rattling over a wooden bridge that spanned a shallow river, Paul suddenly gestured out the window. "Hey, check it out... grizzlies! It's been so warm lately, they must have come out of hibernation for a breather."

Sawyer looked over, without much interest. "Me and bears don't get along so well," he muttered.

Although he seemed confused by this, Paul didn't ask for elaboration. "You mind if I stop, take some pictures?"

"Yes I _mind_," he snapped. "This ain't Wild Kingdom!" In a threatening tone, he added, "You step outside of this thing and I swear to God I'll take off and leave you here."

Speeding up again, Paul laughed silently to himself, shaking his head. "What the hell does she see in you?" he asked under his breath, truly puzzled.

Sawyer shot him a nasty look. "I'm glad you seem to think this is all such a _joke_."

Paul sighed now, becoming more serious. "Look, I don't think it's a _joke_. It's just..." He paused. "Are you always such a bastard to everyone?"

Sawyer looked ahead through the windshield, annoyed. He wasn't exactly sure how to answer the question. "Not _always_," he said after a minute. He tried to take the edge out of his voice. "I just want to find her, all right? Ever since we got into this damn state, it's been one disaster after another..."

"Province," Paul corrected him.

Sawyer glanced over at him, questioningly.

"They're called provinces in Canada? Not states. You should probably get used to that, if you're gonna live here."

This time, he made a concerted effort not to make a sarcastic remark. Raising his eyebrows, he said, as if it had just occurred to him, "Well, I guess we don't _have _to live here anymore, do we? We can go anywhere." He'd been so concerned with finding Kate that he hadn't actually given much thought to the ramifications of what Paul had done for them. But it was true. Everything was different now. They actually had options.

"Someday, yeah," Paul said, in a cautious tone. "But if I were you...and this is just my advice... I'd still lay low for awhile, give everything a chance to really die down. Just because the Feds aren't looking, it doesn't mean some do-gooder won't recognize her and call the hotline. There was a lot of media coverage. And even though they think she's dead, if they're bored enough, they might investigate it." He thought for a second. "After a year or so, though, nobody'll even recall what she looked like. People have short memories for stuff like that."

"I guess," Sawyer agreed grudgingly, not thrilled by this depressing, if prudent, advice.

"If you have someplace to stay up here," Paul continued, "then you should probably wait until after the kid's born, at least."

Sawyer stared at him in shock. "And how the hell do you know about that?"

"She told me."

"_Unbelievable_." He shook his head in disbelief. "Takes her nearly a month to even admit it to _me_, and now it's _watercooler gossip."_

"Well, in her defense," Paul clarified, "it was really more of a _'Please don't send me to prison' _than an _'Ohmygod you'll never guess what happened' _type of thing."

Sawyer rolled his eyes. Despite his reaction, though, he couldn't help feeling a furtive, hidden pride that someone else knew the news. Never in a million years would he have admitted it, of course.

"You got kids?" he asked Paul after a minute, curious.

"Hardly," he said, laughing, going on in a mock-naive tone of voice. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that generally requires a _female_, right?"

"What... you mean you don't have some granola-chompin' feminist chick with hairy armpits to tramp through the woods with ya?"

"Not lately," he answered in a dry tone. "Believe it or not, most women aren't really a fan of the whole 'Let's track down my fugitive sister' pastime. They much prefer dinner and a movie. Shocking, right?"

Sawyer scoffed. Then he seemed to grow a bit worried. Casting a suspicious look over at the man next to him, he asked with dread, "You don't have, like, some kind of sick _crush _on her, do you?"

"On _Kate_?" he asked, seemingly appalled. He looked at Sawyer like he was crazy. "We have the same _father_."

"Why do you think I used the word _sick_?"

Paul shook his head a little, still bewildered. "No. I don't have a _crush _on her. For a long time, I was obsessed with finding her, but... you see how well _that _turned out for me. Now, I'm just trying to make it right. After that, I'm done." As if this reminded him of something, he reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small, sealed envelope. There was nothing written on the outside of it. "As a matter of fact, you can give her this for me."

Sawyer took it from him, examining it on both sides warily. "What's in it?"

"A letter." He looked over at Sawyer, who had automatically held it up to the light in order to see through the envelope. "Come on, man, don't read it," he said, embarrassed. "Just... give it to her, all right?"

Breathing out deeply, Sawyer stuck the note into his own pocket. "_Right_," he muttered, giving in with reluctance. He supposed it wasn't too much to ask. After all, he knew a thing or two about the importance of letters.

The jeep suddenly lurched downward, the bumper almost buried in snow. Paul eased out of it, continuing more slowly. The forest was closing in around them now as they seemed to approach nearer to the mountains. "This is getting bad," he said.

"Can't you go any faster?" Sawyer asked, impatient. The closer they got, the more desperate he became to see if she was really there. He'd never been so apprehensive over anything in his life.

"Not if you want to keep moving."

He gritted his teeth, trying to keep from lashing out or losing his temper. For the next half hour or so, they continued on mostly in silence. Paul seemed to need all his concentration to maneuver along the snowy, bumpy track. They inched forward at no more than a snail's pace. An old lady with a walker could have passed them, Sawyer thought with irritation.

In a particularly thick area of woods, Paul suddenly peered ahead. "Uh-oh," he said quietly.

There was a huge tree down across what remained of the road, blocking it completely. Sawyer's response was more visceral. "_Shit_," he said, furious. Paul crept as far forward as he could, then stopped the jeep in front of the tree. They both got out for a closer investigation.

"Maybe we can find a way to get past it," Sawyer said, still hopeful.

"If I try to go off the road, we'll get stuck," Paul argued. "The tree cover's too thick, anyway. There's nowhere to pass through." He leaned one arm against the hood, regretful. "We're just gonna have to turn around. I tried to tell you..." Then he noticed Sawyer was moving off, already in the distance. "Where are you going?"

"I'm lookin' for a way around!"

Sawyer crunched through the thick snow, determined to find some method by which they could move on from this point. He refused to simply turn around and go back. It wasn't an option he would even consider. Not after they'd made it this far. His eyes scanned the area, searching out some place that was level and contained a gap in the tree trunks big enough for the jeep to fit through. It was dim and gloomy here, without much sun reaching down past the thick foliage. The snow appeared blue and shadowy, almost ghostly. It was enough to make you feel claustrophobic. All of a sudden, his vision snagged on a spot of brighter color, caught in the bristly boughs of a juniper, at about his waist level. He moved toward it, curious, and stared down.

It was a strip of fabric, so thin as to be nearly transparent, pale yellow and with delicate red rosebuds in a scattered pattern across the surface. Sawyer squinted at it, feeling a sudden jolt of recognition, but not knowing why. He'd _seen _this before. Hadn't he? Of course, he knew nothing about material or patterns, but he was convinced that this one, in particular, was familiar to him. Why did it cause such an immediate, almost physical, response?

Reaching out, he lifted it from the branch it was caught on. And as soon as his fingertips brushed against it, he knew what it was. He knew it by touch more than he knew it by sight. Because he'd touched this fabric many, _many _times. Too many times to count. Of course, it felt different now than it did when her warm, sensuous skin was underneath it, but he still recognized it, even without that. It was piece of that damn _dress_. The one that had always both annoyed him and turned him on, in equal parts. He was sure of it. But what in God's name was it doing here? And why was there only a _scrap _of it? His heart began to thud with a mixture of terror and blind hope.

"What _is _that?"

Sawyer hadn't even heard Paul approach. He didn't take his eyes off the fabric, though. "It's hers," he said, still as if he couldn't quite believe it himself.

Paul made a skeptical noise. "You're kidding me. So, what, this is like a Hansel and Gretel thing? Is she leaving you a _trail_?"

Ignoring him, Sawyer suddenly moved off again, searching the ground this time in desperation. He traveled outward from the spot where he'd found the cloth, in wider and wider circles. Paul watched him like he'd lost his mind. Finally, when he was nearly out of view, on the side farthest from the road, Sawyer halted in shock, and then dropped to his knees, examining something in the snow. He felt almost dizzy with the discovery.

Paul went toward him again to find him crouched at the side of a trail of footprints. They came from the south and disappeared over a hill toward the north, each one distinct and perfectly clear in the hardened snow.

"It's from her shoes," Sawyer said in wonder, like he was talking to himself. He didn't seem to be aware of the presence of anyone else. "I know what they look like."

Paul leaned over to study the prints, tracing around the inside edge of one with his finger. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but these aren't from today," he said. "Maybe yesterday, maybe even the day before."

"And how the hell do you know that?" Sawyer demanded. He stood up "_Right_... You're Mr. Wilderness," he said, throwing his arm out in a sarcastic gesture. "How could I forget?"

"All I'm saying is, she could be miles away by now."

But Sawyer was beyond being reasoned with. He'd never had such an adrenaline high as he had right now. Though he was still terrified of what he might find, at least he knew that he would find _something_. "I'm goin' after her," he said, in a voice that left no room for argument.

"Are you insane? You're not equipped to just march off into the woods. Even if you knew what you were doing, which you _don't_..." Paul said. "And it's gonna be dark soon. You heard what the weather report said."

"I'll risk it."

Seeing that he wasn't going to be dissuaded, Paul sighed. "Let me come with you, then."

"No." Sawyer looked down at the ground, then back at Paul. "Appreciate the offer, Johnny Appleseed, but... I gotta do this on my own."

They stood facing each other for a minute, locked in a silent battle of wills. Sawyer's entire countenance radiated fierce and unwavering determination. It was the stance of a man who would do anything, absolutely _anything_, to find what he was searching for. But he had to go these last few miles alone. There was no simple explanation as to why this was true. He only knew that it was.

Nodding finally, as if he understood, even though he still thought this was madness, Paul gave in. "Good luck, then. I hope you find her."

Sawyer started to move off, but then turned back around, forcing himself to do it. With a look on his face as if he found the word distasteful, he finally managed to get it out. "_Thanks_. For... you know." He looked around, helplessly. "All of it. I'll tell her what you did."

Paul smiled a bit, satisfied with this. He seemed to know it was all he would ever get. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah."

His heart pounding, Sawyer looked down at the ground again and located her footprints. Was it possible that the shape of someone's shoe could be beautiful? Not allowing anything else to enter his mind but the necessity of moving forward, he started to follow them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Just about finished up here. You can go ahead and get in, if you're cold."

"That's okay," Kate said to Mark, watching as he fiddled with something under the hood of the hummer. "I could use some fresh air."

She circled around to the other side of the vehicle, which was perched on an incline overlooking the lake. Brushing the snow from a tarp-covered pile of lumber, she sat down on it to wait, trying not to let her impatience show. Though it was still only afternoon, it was obvious that it wouldn't be light for much longer. The sky was clear, but there were more clouds building in the north, dark and ominous. Kate scanned the sky, listening tensely for the sound of approaching helicopters.

As if guessing her thoughts, Mark commented in a casual voice, "Awfully still out here today. Haven't heard a sound."

She turned toward him, surprised and a little unnerved. He was giving her a reassuring look, though, so she offered a wan smile in return. "It's nice. The peace and quiet, I mean."

He nodded in assent, then went back to what he'd been doing.

She made herself concentrate on the scene before her, which was breathtaking. It was the same one she'd gazed at from the top of the hill before she'd disastrously attempted to climb down here, though she was seeing it from a different angle today. Now she was much closer to the water, and it was, if possible, even more beautiful than it had been from a distance. She wished that Sawyer could see it. Not that he would care anything about the view, really. But it was hard to get out of the habit of wanting to share every sensation with him.

Maybe it would be better once she was far away from here, on her own again. She would be in a place where they'd never shared any kind of life, and then everything she saw and felt wouldn't remind her of him. Realistically, she knew that it would get easier as the months and years went by. Thinking about him would hurt less, until eventually, there might come a time when it didn't hurt that much at all. It was the same as adjusting to a death, she assumed. For all intents and purposes, they _were _dead to each other. The separation couldn't feel more final than if she'd actually buried him herself. Even if he got out of prison one day and managed to track her down, it wouldn't be the same. Too much time would have passed, and they wouldn't be able to pretend they were the same people. It never worked that way.

No, it really would be better to mourn and then let go of him. Someday, he would be a pleasant, if sad, memory, and this stifling ache in her heart wouldn't be associated with him at all. She knew better than to think that she would die from the heartbreak, or that she would never recover. Real life just wasn't like that, fortunately. But this knowledge that should have reassured her was somehow more painful than anything else could have been. Because she didn't _want _to get over him. She didn't want there to ever come a time when she could think about him objectively, with distance, as if he wasn't intertwined with the very fabric of her existence. When Tom had died just a few years ago, she'd craved an end to the suffering she'd gone through. She'd even tried to outrun her own pain, attempting to leave it behind her, avoiding it at all costs. In a way, she was doing that again now. But this time, instead of looking forward to it, she dreaded the day when Sawyer's absence would cease to poison her every waking moment. She already hated that future self, that version of her that would be more wise and mature and would look back at all this through the rosy haze of memory. She loathed that woman she would turn into, and she also feared that the transformation was inevitable. No matter how much she fought it, it would overtake her.

Kate sighed. This wasn't what she wanted to be thinking about right now. She'd done a decent job of keeping it all on the back burner since she'd been here with the Morris family, but she could feel it threatening to move back to the fore again. If only she could keep herself from getting emotional until she was alone. That was all she would ask for - just to hold it together until then.

To distract herself, she looked down at the lake, wondering what it would look like in warm weather. Right now, it was partially frozen, with sections of water alternating with sheets and pockets of ice. She made such an effort to focus on the scenery, and _not _on Sawyer, that she realized she'd been staring at the same bizarre grouping on one particular sheet of ice for a few minutes without even really comprehending what it was she was looking at. There was something out of place about it, yet she couldn't quite put her finger on why.

Mark had moved around to one of the hummer's back tires, and was tightening the bolts on the wheels. Noticing Kate's expression, he remarked, "You look confused."

She glanced at him, then back at the lake. "No, it's just..." She paused, finally pinpointing what it was that was bothering her. "Are those _geese_?"

Without even turning his head toward the water, he confirmed her guess with a knowing smile. "Yes, ma'am. Those would be geese." He waited for her next question, as if he expected it.

She was quiet for a few seconds, watching the flock splash and lurch around on an ice floe near a pitifully small section of water. Every so often one would attempt to swim, but then would quickly flap and stumble back out of the freezing lake, seemingly bewildered. They all had a puny, forlorn appearance. "But I thought they went south in the fall," Kate said. "Isn't December a little late for migrating?"

"Well," Mark began, raising his eyebrows. "You're right about that. But something tells me those down there don't have any plans to leave us this year."

"Why not?" Her attempt to distract herself had worked. She was actually intrigued now, instead of having to fake it.

"Because," he replied simply. "They're orphans."

When she still didn't seem to understand, he elaborated. "See, geese are a lot like us in some ways. They learn all the important things from their parents. And if they happen to get stuck with bad ones, or if the mother dies before they're hatched, like with those... they're pretty much out of luck. They can't make it on their own."

For some reason, these facts depressed her. Maybe because they hit too close to home, though that didn't make much sense. What did she have in common with a flock of geese? "But I thought it was all just... instinct," she said hesitantly. "Aren't they born with it?"

"Part of it's instinct," he explained, speaking slowly and emphasizing each point. "But it doesn't go far enough. They get the urge to fly, but they just don't know where to go. So they circle around a few times, but then come right back to the same spot. It's like a pattern... feels safe, since it's the only thing they're familiar with. What they need is someone to make the trip with 'em, show 'em the way. When they've done it once, they'll remember it the rest of their lives." He looked up at the sky, thoughtful. "Normally they'd be able to join up with another flock, but we're so far north that the other ones don't pass over here. So they're basically stuck, I guess you could say."

Kate felt an unaccountable weight of sadness while listening to these words. They touched a chord deep within her. With some trepidation, as if the answer to the next question meant everything in the world to her, she asked softly, "Will they survive the winter?"

"_Oh_..." Mark turned to look over his shoulder at the geese, considering. He squinted at them, then looked back at Kate, shaking his head matter-of-factly. "I doubt it."

She felt a lump in her throat, and she quickly looked away from him, biting the inside of her lip and willing herself not cry. _For God's sake, stop it_, she begged herself. _What the hell is the matter with you?_

Mark watched her with puzzled concern. Maybe he thought she was simply an animal lover, or someone with an unusually kind heart. What other explanation could there be for such a strange reaction? It didn't fit into any categories he was aware of. "Well, gosh, hon... don't let it get you down," he said, trying to cheer her up. "They're just birds."

She nodded a few times, finally looking at him with a slight, unconvincing smile. "Yeah." Her voice was falsely lighthearted. "I know."

Apparently satisfied by this, and not willing to press any further, Mark let the matter drop. The emotions of women seemed to make him nervous. Standing up, he dusted his hands off on his jeans. "All right. Looks like we're all ready to go here." He glanced at Kate again, with some misgiving. "You know, there's no reason you have to leave right now. My wife was telling the truth - we'd love to have you stay. It'd be much more comfortable for you to fly down in the ski-plane in two weeks. You sure you really want to go today?"

And suddenly, to her surprise, she found that she _wasn't _sure. The uncertainty had sneaked up on her, unawares. There seemed to be no source for it at all, but she felt something pulling at her, urging her to give in and accept his offer. Instead of immediately responding, she hesitated for a few seconds. But eventually, her need to escape prevailed over this new, confusing impulse to stay. She'd already made up her mind, after all. If she changed it now, she would only end up regretting it. The family probably would, too.

"I'm sure," she told him, trying to inject some force into the words.

He opened the passenger side door for her. "Ladies first, then."

"Thanks." She climbed in and lowered her backpack onto the floor, settling back in the seat. She should have felt relief at just being in the vehicle, but somehow, she didn't. Not yet.

Mark circled around and got in on the driver's side. The engine when he started it was loud and aggressive-sounding. He waited a few minutes for it to warm up.

"How long do you think it'll take to get there?" Kate asked.

"Couple days, give or take. Depends on the weather." He pointed at the northwest sky. "We might be in for another bad one, from the looks of it. You in a hurry?"

"Not at all," she told him. It was the kind of lie that came as naturally to her as breathing. She was such a practiced expert that it even felt true.

Finally, when the motor had been idling long enough, Mark backed the hummer around and eased down the slope toward a track that passed by the trailers of the mine workers. This was apparently what passed for a road around here. Its course swung in a wide arc around the perimeter of the lake, disappearing into a gap in the woods. Though the track was covered in snow, the rugged vehicle seemed to handle the task of navigating it fairly well. A little bumpy, but not too bad. Kate leaned back against the head rest of the seat and let her eyes close. She didn't want to see any of it, ever again.

But as soon as her vision was cut off, her mind was filled with strange, flickering images and sounds, like the beginnings of a fever-induced dream. Scenes from the last few months with Sawyer rose into her memory, all disconnected and jumbled against each other. Sleeping in a boxcar, pouring him coffee, a porch swing, a nervous horse in Kentucky, drinking beer on the dock, a forehead thermometer edging into the dangerous numbers, playing in an army surplus store, fighting about a school picture, watching the sunset from the roof, the cold barrel of a gun pressed to her neck and the rustling of dried cornstalks. And combined with this assorted patchwork of images was the nagging sensation, growing stronger now, that she should stay here. She shouldn't leave. But _why_? Where was this idea coming from?

Everything had been fine until she'd started watching those stupid geese. Until then, her strongest instinct was to get as far away from here, as soon as she could. Why should that change? What did they have to do with _anything_? Mark was right. They were just birds. The simple fact that she felt some kind of bizarre kinship with their plight shouldn't be having such a lasting effect on her. She should have shaken it off by now. She had a hundred things of more pressing importance to think about. What was it about the whole situation that had such a hold on her, that gripped her and made her feel that with every second that passed, she was traveling farther and farther away from where she needed to be? _They're just birds_, she told herself with fierceness.

As she repeated this silently like a mantra, still with her eyes closed, another image floated unbidden to the top of her consciousness. At first, it seemed to be as random and out-of-place as all the previous ones. A dark night, her body spattered with blood that wasn't her own, and a little boy in a Halloween costume pulling at her arm, tugging her down toward him to whisper in her ear, the same way something unfathomable was tugging at her now. What was it that he'd said? Some phrase, inscrutable and troubling, that hadn't meant anything at all to her. What was it? She waited, hoping it would come to her, feeling like she needed to remember it. Something about... _birds_?

She opened her eyes again, feeling a sudden shock pass through her. She sat up straight, tense and alert now.

Mark glanced over at her. "You okay?"

It took her a few seconds to register the words. She'd forgotten his presence. "Yeah," she said, sounding distracted. "I'm fine."

She concentrated, trying to recall the rest, knowing all the time how absurd this was and that there was no logical reason why it should seem so important. _The one with all the birds_. Was that all of it? Taking herself back to that moment, that nightmarish Halloween night, she strained to hear the echoes of it in her mind. And then it came to her, with perfect, uncanny clarity. _Pick the one with all the birds. _His voice had been ghostly and faint, yet perfectly serious. But how could she think that a strange little boy, who most likely had emotional problems, could possibly have any relevance at all to what was happening to her now? That was months ago. And maybe she hadn't heard him right, anyway. She was under so much stress right now that who could tell what kind of false memories her brain might throw in her way? This was crazy. She wouldn't let herself give in to it.

Forcing herself to lean back again, she tried to relax. They were nearly around the lake now, and would soon move into the woods, leaving the entire area of the mining camp behind as the forest swallowed the vehicle up. In just a few minutes, it would all be over.

Instead of abating, though, her unease continued to mount, becoming more urgent the farther from the water they moved. It was almost a physical sensation, like a thread that anchored her to the lake was growing taut and strangling her, close to the breaking point. It felt like a warning. But a warning of what?

She suddenly decided that it didn't matter. It was simply too strong to resist. She had to get down to the water. She had to get down to the water, _right now_. She sat up straight again, speaking to Mark in an excited, breathless voice.

"Actually, I'm not fine. I'm... I'm sorry, but could you stop for a second?"

He complied immediately, turning to her with concern. "What is it?"

"You know what, I think..." She swallowed, then tried again, trying to talk calmly. "I think maybe your wife was right. Maybe I'm not ready to make the trip right now."

He smiled, not appearing surprised or at all bothered by this news. "She'd be delighted if you'd stay."

Kate took a deep breath, making up her mind. "I think I will. If you really mean it."

"Of course I do." He started to put the hummer in reverse. "Let me drive you back up to the house."

"No, that's okay," Kate stopped him hastily. She didn't want that. "I'll walk."

"That's probably not a good idea, with your leg..."

But she was already opening the door, climbing out. She brushed him off, seeming impatient now. "It's no big deal. I can't even feel it. The exercise will do me good."

Mark didn't appear entirely convinced, but he wasn't much for confrontation. "If you're sure..."

Kate only smiled in reply, pulling her backpack from the floorboard and swinging it over her shoulder.

"Be careful on that snow, then," he told her, giving up on convincing her. "Some of it's pretty slick." He shifted back into drive. "I'll see you in a few days," he said with an air of finality. "Give my daughter a hug for me."

"I will," she promised. She slammed the door, and he waved to her as he started moving again.

She stood where she was for a few seconds, waiting until the vehicle had disappeared from view into the thick trees. Even the sound of it died away before too long. Her heart beat like a jackhammer. She didn't even question why. All she knew was that she had to get over the edge of this hill, where she could see the water again.

Turning away from the tire tracks, she started walking up the incline toward the ridge of the lake. From this side, it was almost like a crater. They'd been driving far down below it, sinking to lower and lower altitudes. Now she had to retrace that distance by going back uphill. She walked bent forward to conserve energy, but still quickly grew short of breath. The cold air burning in her lungs felt wonderful. The pain in her ankle was a kind of satisfaction to her. It didn't bother her at all. She felt vibrantly alive.

It took longer than she'd thought it would to get within view of the water again, and the more time that passed, the more anxious she became. When she finally reached the top, she was almost dizzy with anticipation. She climbed up the last step to the peak of the ridge, stopping to catch her breath as she gazed out over the area, her eyes shining in expectation.

And there was nothing there. Absolutely nothing.

The lake was gray-blue and shadowy, empty and vast and isolated, except for the geese. The silence that surrounded it was numb and deafening in its unrelenting monotony. Even the birds seemed intimidated by it, conforming with their own unnatural quietness and subdued movements. There was no sound at all, not even from the direction of the mines. It was like being trapped in a snow globe. What had seemed scenic and picturesque to her a few minutes ago was now devoid of anything approaching beauty. It wasn't even ugly, or hostile, or threatening. It was simply indifferent. There was nothing here for her.

A slight breeze ruffled Kate's hair away from her face. The air was the only thing that seemed to have any life to it.

Her profound, stabbing disappointment nearly took all the strength out of her. She didn't know how it was possible to be disappointed when she hadn't known what she was expecting to find, anyway. But it _was _possible. Somehow, it was.

With slow, weary steps, she continued on down to the very edge of the water. The geese were close to this side of the bank, a few yards out on a section of ice. They looked at her mildly, without much interest. A few gave lackluster honks, but then seemed to accept her presence.

Kate kneeled down on the ground, her energy sapped. Now what? _What had she done?_ This would probably turn out to be the biggest mistake of her life. She was going to be stuck here for another two weeks. In two weeks, the FBI was guaranteed to find her. Her opportunity to leave was gone - she'd refused it by her own choice. And for what? Because of some random memory, and a bizarre, out-of-nowhere urge to stay here? Never in her life had she done anything quite so ridiculous. She laughed at herself, bitterly, pressing her hand to her forehead and brushing her hair back. "I really _have _lost my mind," she mused out loud.

She stared out at the geese, who reflected her own misery back at her, magnified. A flood of anger washed over her. If she hadn't seen them... if she hadn't seen these goddamn birds, then she'd be well on her way to San Diego, via Seattle, by now. Why hadn't she just gotten into the car when he'd offered, instead of sitting outside?

Impetuously, she picked up a handful of pebbles and flung them at the geese. They ruffled their wings, disturbed, honking softly to each other. "You _stupid things_," she muttered, her voice breaking. "Go on!" She tried again, throwing with even more force this time, wanting desperately to make them fly away. "You'll die if you stay here!" Her efforts had no effect on them. They only cast wounded, surprised looks at her, as if they wondered why she'd turned on them. Finally, she stopped, exhausted and disheartened. She was also out of pebbles. Should she use the gun in her backpack? Sawyer would have. The thought would normally have amused her, but now, it only made her hurt more.

"Maybe you want to die here," she whispered, feeling sick.

Brushing the palm of her hand angrily across her eyes, she glanced up from the geese briefly and back down again, then froze. She forced herself to stare at the water for a few agonizing seconds. Her heart seemed to beat out the question, _What was that_? _What the hell was that? _Slowly, she raised her head for the second time, allowing the object that had snared on the corner of her vision to come into focus.

There was somebody standing at the edge of the lake, watching her.

With effort, she brushed aside her initial instant of shocked recognition, because it was almost certainly wrong. She made herself pick out the details of what she was seeing.

The pieces fell into place one at a time, as if her mind couldn't process the complete image at once. It was a man. A man with a long, black coat that made him look like an Old West outlaw. A tall man with tousled dark blonde hair and about five days of beard growth. A man who was staring at her with an expression that most likely mirrored the one on her own face.

Without taking her eyes off him, Kate rose shakily to her feet. She remained standing where she was, hearing her own breathing as if it came from the end of a long tunnel that she would never see the end of. Without even realizing that she did it, she began to shake her head back and forth, in tentative denial.

_No_. No, it wasn't real. It was just another hallucination, like the one in the fire. It was just her own mind, betraying her yet again. That was all. It was like a mirage in a desert that would disappear or recede into the distance if she went toward it. There wasn't really anything there. There couldn't be.

But then the mirage started to walk toward her, tracing a path alongside the water, still watching her face. The style of the walk - that loping gait that managed to be both impetuous and laid-back all at once - was so piercingly familiar to her. She remained rooted to the spot, clenching her fists and digging her nails into her palms, trying to make herself wake up, to snap back into the real world. She was imagining it all. She had to be. It wasn't real.

He was getting closer now. She could hear his steps crunching in the snow, could see the footprints he left behind him. _Would a hallucination leave footprints? _she asked herself, not daring to dwell on the answer. She continued to watch his progress, feeling herself trapped in a dazed, almost dream-like state. If this was a trick, it was the cruelest trick her mind had ever played on her.

He came to a stop about twenty feet away, as if he wanted to prolong his approach in order to keep looking at her. His expression was one of tortured, hopeful intensity, like he'd never expected to see her alive again. She could see his chest rise and fall as he breathed.

They faced each other in silence, two dark figures outlined in shadow against the cold, blue-white backdrop.

He seemed to be as uncertain of the reality of her existence as she was of his. After a few drawn-out seconds during which they both stood there, staring at each other without moving, he managed a hoarse, broken whisper. "Freckles?"

And with the sound of his voice, the spell of wavering doubt that had been hanging over her was suddenly broken. It _wasn't _just a mirage. Her mind wasn't taking her hostage. It was _him_. He was really here, in front of her, in the flesh. It was Sawyer.

Her vision already swimming with bewildered tears, she began to walk toward him, slowly at first but then picking up speed as she got nearer, her ankle completely forgotten. When she was just a few paces away, he held out his arms to her, making a pained effort to keep his features stoic and under control.

Her body collided into his with such impact that he let himself sink backwards into a snowdrift, pulling her down on top of him. They became a blurred mass of stunned, frantic kisses, each trying to cover every surface of the other's face, neck, and mouth. Kate let herself cry openly, holding nothing back. Sawyer had his hands tangled in her hair, gripping her head so hard that it would have hurt under normal circumstances, though it didn't now in the slightest. They clutched at each other like drowning victims who would either sink or survive together, afraid to ease up on their hold for a fraction of a second.

"_How_...?" Kate kept beginning, gasping out the question over and over again. "_How_...?" But she never got any further than the first word. He cut her off with a kiss, each time, until she finally gave up on asking how. It didn't matter, anyway. Nothing mattered now. Nothing but the fact that he was here, warm and tangibly real, his forehead pressed against hers, and that he badly needed to shave, and that he smelled faintly of whiskey and cigarettes and unwashed hair. Even if this didn't last, even if they were torn apart again in an hour, he was _here now_. She didn't understand how it was possible, and maybe she didn't even want to.

Gradually, as the initial frenzy died down, she let her head sink exhausted next to his, her lips grazing his cheek, passing over his ear. He held her upper body against his with a fierce pressure that hadn't even begun to slacken yet. "_Sawyer_," she whispered, so softly it was barely discernable. She wanted to say it out loud, just once. He swallowed hard, and she heard the telltale clicking sound of someone trying to hold back emotion. She kept waiting for some kind of remark, some joke or complaint or sexually-charged innuendo to lighten the atmosphere, but none came. It seemed he couldn't manage speech. His face over her shoulder seethed with such brutally raw emotion that someone who didn't know any better might have mistaken it for rage.

Eventually, Kate raised her head up again, her hair spilling down around her. In a loving, somehow erotic gesture, he very slowly tucked it back behind her ears, letting his fingertips trail down to her face, which he cupped between his hands. He ran his roughened thumbs over her lips. They stared at each other, feeling the palpable heat radiating between them. In his eyes, Kate could see all the words that he was unable to say, as she imagined he probably could with her. There was no need to speak, after all. It would have been an unnecessary intrusion on this moment. To hell with it. After a few seconds of this drought-induced drinking in of each other, he pulled her down to kiss her again.

Suddenly, as if fed up with all the commotion, one of the geese on the lake a few yards away thrashed its wings experimentally and lurched upward into the air with no warning. The others, startled and intrigued, followed within a few seconds. They circled the water in a disjointed manner, shaking the droplets off their wings, then one by one fell into a formation that was outlined in dark patterns against the sinking sun. Honking riotously in what sounded like triumph, they disappeared over the top of the southernmost mountain, leaving an eventual silence behind them as their discordant cries faded away.

Kate and Sawyer, pressed together in a snow bank without heeding the cold or the coming night, never noticed anything out of the ordinary. Neither one of them even looked up.


	36. Chapter 36

It's 12:30 in the morning and I'm honestly almost in a coma right now - I think my eyeballs might be damaged beyond repair... and I can't think of any comments to make for this site, other this is Kate POV first, then Sawyer. Also sex/fluff alert. I'll probably end up editing majorly tomorrow, because I bet there are about a billion typos and other things I'll want to change. But for now - here you go! And thank you so much for reviewing... I'm glad most of you seemed to enjoy the reunion chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 36**

Letting her eyes fall closed in a trance-like state of bliss, Kate lifted her arms with a balletic motion as her shirt was slowly tugged over her head. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her hands finding their instinctive way to Sawyer's belt buckle, unaided by vision.

Steam was already beginning to fill the room, and the rushing, soothing sound of the shower pattered like music in the background. She heard her sweater dropped to the floor beside her, felt Sawyer's roughened fingertips travel up her waist and his lips return to her neck, accompanied by a slight grin as he noticed she wasn't wearing a bra. Maybe he even remembered that he was the one who'd hidden it, and that she'd never had a chance to look around for the damn thing before their last haven was invaded and burned to the ground. Or maybe he didn't think anything at all about it, other than that it was convenient for this particular moment. After all, theirs wasn't a situation that was very conducive to rational thought. Kate leaned her forehead against his bare chest, dropping light, feathery kisses there, lulled by the warmth and the noise of the falling water.

They still hadn't said more than a few words to each other since that first shocked uttering of names down by the lake. She'd led him by the hand back up to the cluster of dwellings at the mining camp, and he'd followed her unquestioningly. When they'd reached the Morris residence, Alicia had come outside to meet them, puzzled and concerned, looking from Sawyer to Kate and back again. But the radiant, overwhelming relief and joy in Kate's expression must have reassured her, at least for the time being. After listening to a few words of partial, confused explanation, she seemed to understand that the two of them had been searching for each other without much hope, and now after being reunited wanted nothing more than to be left alone together. Without prying for details, she offered them the use of one of the smaller mobile homes, recently vacated by a mine worker who had quit his job on the spur of the moment. She told them they were welcome to stay there as long as they needed to. Kate agreed to take it, thanking her over and over again profusely, but still looking at Sawyer, like she was afraid that if she glanced away, he might not be there when she turned back.

The first thing they'd done after entering the trailer was to head toward the bathroom with wordless, mutual consent. They were tired, cold, hungry, and sore. But more than anything else, they felt the need to scrub themselves clean, to let these last few miserable weeks run off of them, washed away by the hot water and by their own searching hands and lips. Sawyer turned the water on while Kate unwrapped her ankle, and then they began to undress each other, deliberately but without haste. Stepping into the downpour was pure ecstasy. For a few minutes they simply stood and let the water beat down over them, holding each other without any movement other than a slight, almost imperceptible swaying that was like a dance.

Kate finally dipped herself back while he kept a firm hold on her waist, allowing the water to cascade over her face and hair. Then she located a bottle of shower gel, almost completely full, and began to work it into a thick lather, rubbing it sensuously over Sawyer's chin and neck, moving down to his nearly non-existent shoulders, letting her hands glide over the slopes as she smiled to herself and fought tears at the same time.

"_What_?" he asked in a husky voice, noticing her reaction.

She hesitated. "I thought I'd never get to call you a scarecrow again," she eventually whispered, wrinkling her nose at him with a hint of adoring mockery.

Of all the meaningful exchanges it was possible to begin with, this had to be the most patently ridiculous one they could have chosen. But it somehow felt more appropriate, more familiar, to relate to each other in this way. It was easier for them to get their meanings across in coded words than in earnest, cloyingly literal ones.

Rather than answering, Sawyer kissed her hungrily, biting her lip a little in his ardor, drawing it away with him as he pulled back from her.

She continued swirling the soap along his arms and chest, massaging it into the firm muscles of his midsection, then moving lower and lower, stroking his familiar, velvety contours. When she felt him begin to stir under her hand, he drew his breath in jaggedly and pulled her back up toward him. Taking the bottle, he began the same process on her while she backed further into the stream of water, closing her eyes. In the warm, pulsing darkness, all she was conscious of was the sensation of his hands traveling over her entire body, washing her from head to toe with loving, unhurried attention. His mouth followed along to the areas he'd already rinsed, tasting and probing while she steadied herself against the shower wall with one arm to keep the pleasure-induced vertigo at bay.

Next he turned her around, facing away from him, and she felt his hands in her hair, working the soap into her scalp, his fingertips kneading her head rhythmically. Not since she was a tiny child could she recall anybody other than herself washing her hair. It surprised her to find how tantalizingly erotic it was, to surrender that commonplace personal rite to someone else. She sighed in contentment, swiveling her neck around slowly in response to the gentle motions of his fingers. Maybe it was possible to gauge how much someone loved you by the tenderness they instilled into such a simple act of devotion. She was overcome with a sudden, urgent need for him that went far beyond the merely physical. It was a kind of all-consuming desire that she'd never felt before, like she wanted nothing less than to fuse herself into him, whole and complete.

The sensuality of this act was apparently having a similar effect on him, because by the time he'd rinsed the soap away from her hair, she could feel his need pressing against her from behind, insistently. Moving her legs apart a bit, she made room for him, backing up even closer into his body to encourage him. With his arms wrapped around her from behind, he lifted her up slightly as he pushed into her, lowering her again while she arched back against him with a low, gasping moan. She reached around and placed one hand behind his neck as he ducked his head to nibble at her shoulder, finally starting to move in her with drawn-out, excruciatingly slow rocking motions. She relaxed against him, more than happy to go at any pace he wanted this time. She had a feeling that it wouldn't matter anyway. Her entire body was already suffused with such a glowing, throbbing euphoria that it wouldn't require much to push her over the edge. This entire day felt like a dream.

The bathroom was turning into a sauna, the steam making it hard to breathe as they both panted for air. Kate could have adjusted the temperature of the water to cool them down, but she didn't, enjoying the intoxicating heat and the way the perspiration was washed from their bodies the second it came to the surface. Her legs felt weak already, and her sore, neglected ankle threatened to give out, but this fact barely registered on her attention. Her foot most certainly wasn't a part of her body she was concerned with at the moment. The water pressure was strong, and it pounded down over her breasts and stomach as she tilted herself up toward it, Sawyer's arms still locked around her, one of his hands rubbing in delicate, maddening circles between her legs. When she felt herself getting too close, she suddenly pulled away from him, breaking the vice grip he had on her, interrupting their steady momentum. She wanted to be facing him. After all this time apart, she wanted to see his face.

He seemed to understand this intuitively the second she drew away from him, and he complied by backing up against the wall of the shower and pulling her toward him by the waist, the two of them now facing each other as he lifted her against him again and picked up where they'd left off. She bent her head toward him, swallowing him in a kiss that cut off even more of her oxygen, making her vision explode with dazzling spots of white. Against her mouth, she felt the vibrations of that familiar primal, throaty growl of his that always made her lose it. She pulled away a little, gasping for air, and he gripped a handful of her hair and angled her head back so that he could see her face as she passed the point of no return. The heat pulsed through her in waves now, irradiating from every single point of her body.

Sawyer wasn't moving any harder or faster than he had been before, but it didn't make any difference. This moment went far beyond the physical for her. The solid reality of his presence was enough, after everything she'd gone through, after she'd been so convinced that she would have to relinquish him as a ghost from her past. This union, so warm and tangible and passionate and real, was the closest thing she'd ever had to a religious experience. When she tensed up and cried out, her wail echoed plaintively against the tile walls, containing the blended mixture of every emotion she'd gone through in the time apart from him - the agony of knowing she would never see him again, the loneliness, the fear, the bitter self-hatred, all of it washing over her, down the drain with the water, her cry transforming gradually into the still-astonished rapture of their reunion, the shock of one more chance when she'd been convinced the game was over. Her hands clenched around the back of Sawyer's neck, her voice finally tapering off into subdued whimpering as he slowed even more, supporting her weight as her body went limp against him.

After a few seconds she raised her head and looked into his eyes, which were examining her with a proud yet strangely modest pleasure. The water rained down over her back. It was clear to her from the throbbing pressure behind her navel that he was nowhere near finishing, and she smiled at him a little. They were both used to the fact that she had much less self-control than he did. It was okay, though. She would have stayed in here with him all day, no questions asked. She had no idea how much time they had left, or whether this would last. The authorities could be on his trail right now, for all she knew. Maybe they wouldn't make it, even with a second chance. But they could at least _pretend _that they didn't have to hurry. Reaching up to kiss him again, she rocked her hips forward, urging him to continue.

It was another half hour and three climaxes later when Sawyer finally thrust his way to his own ultimate release, gripping her hips hard enough to leave imprints from his fingers. Kate felt the glorious, scorching heat erupting within her, the expression on his face telling her that he felt the exact same sense of cleansing benediction that she had, that this stolen moment was as immeasurable to him as it was to her. He locked his knees to keep from sliding down against the slippery wall as he tried to catch his breath, and they propped each other up, exhausted and sated.

By the time they got around to turning the shower off, the water had begun to run cold.

* * *

They emerged from the bathroom quietly, with a sense of mutual peace between them. They still hadn't spoken more than a few words since they'd been together, but Sawyer knew that they would soon. There was no rush.

Kate immediately began poking around the bedroom-living area, and, like the expert snoop that she was, managed to turn up a few unopened packages of boxer shorts and white t-shirts in a bureau drawer. Apparently the mine worker had left this place in such a hurry that he hadn't bothered to pack up all of his belongings. They soon discovered that he'd been quite a hefty man - the boxers sagged on Sawyer, and the t-shirt Kate pulled on came almost to her knees. But the only thing that mattered was that these items were new and clean. If it meant not having to get back into the grungy, unwashed clothes that they'd been wearing for nearly a week, then it was worth the awkward fit.

And it wasn't as if they had big plans for the evening, anyway. The first thing Sawyer did after he'd dried off and cranked up the heater was to flop onto the queen-sized bed, groaning and stretching out as if he had no plans to leave it again for hours. The frame and mattress were cheap and flimsy, but nothing had ever felt so comfortable in his life. He lay there and watched as Kate double-checked the lock on the door and then moved to the front window and glanced out nervously, making a hasty, covert scan of the sky before she pulled the drapes tightly closed. He could see the tense set of her shoulders, and it suddenly occurred to him that she didn't know yet. She didn't know that they didn't have to do this anymore, that they were no longer being hunted.

He felt himself possessed of an immensely important gift that it was now his responsibility and privilege to hand over to her. For the first time, it was _good _news that he would get to surprise her with, and not something that would destroy her already meager sense of security. Could that be possible? Had anything of this nature _ever _happened before, since they'd been together? It was always the worst possible information he was forced to spring on her -_ the Feds were here this morning; there's a bounty hunter on the road behind us _- always something that made her features close off and become guarded, that made her eyes register fear and that familiar hopeless dread that made him feel sick. What would her reaction be when he told her they were safe? He decided to delay the confession for just a little longer, knowing this was selfish on his part but wanting to enjoy the anticipation.

Kate disappeared into the bathroom again and came back out carrying her dirty clothes and the tan cloth bandage that had been wrapped around her ankle, dropping them with careless unconcern at the foot of the bed. She appeared to be trying to disguise a slight limp, though he noticed it anyway. Next she lifted her backpack onto a chair and reached into it. Sawyer's gaze followed every move she made, fascinated as he'd always been. More than he'd even realized it, he'd missed the simple pleasure of just _looking _at her.

To his surprise, she now drew a handgun from the bag and checked the safety, then glanced up, catching his eye.

"Where'd you manage to dig _that _up, Calamity Jane?" he asked, tilting his head back with mock suspicion.

"Stole it," she informed him, without fanfare. She passed it over for him to inspect, and he turned it back and forth in his hands, enjoying the heft and the way the metal gleamed in the lamplight.

"_Niiice_," he drawled, then flashed his dimples at her. "Just what I asked Santa for."

She smiled a little, but she still seemed wary. Taking the gun back, she placed it in the top drawer of the nightstand next to the bed, leaving it cracked open for easy access, then looked around restlessly, as if wondering what to do next. He took advantage of her proximity to grab her arm and pull her down across his midsection, kissing her again before she could protest. If she wasn't going to relax on her own, he'd just have to persuade her.

Giving in, she finally loosened up and propped herself against him, leaning on his chest and staring down into his face. She took a deep breath and then let it out, accepting that it was time to actually talk to each other now. They'd waited long enough. There were so many things that needed to be said, so many questions to be answered. Still, before they began, they took a few more seconds of appreciative silence.

"How did you find me here?" Kate finally asked in a wondering tone. "I can't figure it out."

"What... You mean you weren't leavin' me those breadcrumbs on purpose?" he asked teasingly, running his hand through her hair.

"I'm serious," she said with a smile.

"So am I," he insisted, reaching over onto the floor where he'd dropped his clothes in a heap. He grabbed his jeans and fished around in the pocket, then held the small strip of dress fabric out to her as he fell back into the pillows again with a smug expression. Kate took the scrap and sat up straighter, even more confused now.

Looking from the piece of cloth to him and back again, she asked, "Where did you get this?

"Not too far from here... up in the woods a ways. I figured you might try to head toward the preserve, so I came as far as I could before the road gave out. Found _that," _he said, indicating the cloth,_ "_then found your tracks nearby. Followed 'em up the hill till I lost the trail. By that point, I could already see you down there at the water." He paused, as if he'd just thought of something. "What the hell did you have against those poor birds, anyway, Freckles? Ain't ever seen you throw a rock at anything but _me_."

She laughed a little, but with a secretive air. "Long story," she said, winding the cloth around her fingers. She stared at it, shaking her head back and forth a little. "I can't believe you found this. I must have dropped it." She looked up at Sawyer again, explaining. "I had to tear the dress up... to wrap my ankle with. I didn't have anything else."

She seemed almost guilty, as if she expected him to mourn for the damn thing. He thought it probably wouldn't be wise to tell her that he couldn't have cared less what happened to it, just as long as she wasn't _in it _when it got ripped to pieces. Assuming, of course, that he wasn't the one doing the ripping. He imagined that most men in his situation would have shared this outlook.

"How's it feel now?" he asked, changing the subject. "The ankle?"

She glanced at her foot, as if she wasn't incredibly interested. "It's okay. Just a little swollen."

He raised up and looked for himself, then grabbed the bandage from where she'd dropped it. She immediately tried to take it from him, protesting, "I can do that." He held it up above her head, out of reach. Then, gently but with determined firmness, he took her shoulders and pressed her back onto the spot he'd just been lying in. Sinking into the mattress, she gave up the fight and lazily watched him move down to her foot, which he propped up on a pillow with almost comic delicacy before unrolling the cloth bandage.

With unexpected finesse, he started to wrap her ankle. It of course didn't escape his notice that with one of her legs slightly raised above the other, he had a clear view up the front of her oversized t-shirt, under which she wore nothing at all. Noticing where his gaze wandered, Kate shifted her knees a bit further apart with a half-mischievous, half-innocent look. Sawyer grinned a little and looked away, trying to pace himself. Hopefully, it would be a long night.

She seemed impressed by the easy, practiced way he wound the bandage around her leg and foot. "You're not bad at this," she admitted after observing him for awhile.

"Told you I coulda been a damn doctor," he said, pinning the end in place with a satisfied smirk.

She smiled and rolled her eyes. Then, watching his face, she grew a bit more serious as she contemplated her next words. "Where were you, Sawyer?" she asked softly.

He continued to adjust the wrapping, pretending he didn't know what she was talking about yet.

She continued. "You said you'd be right behind me. I went up that stupid chimney, and I kept expecting you to come after me."

He glanced at her, sheepish, then back down. "Guess I musta got a little sidetracked."

She was quiet for a second. "Did you go out there on purpose?"

But he refused to give her what she wanted. She would never get it out of him. "Tell you the truth, the details are just a tad fuzzy, sweet cheeks. Can't quite remember _what _happened after you started actin' like Courtney Love with a bad case of the spins."

She looked at him closely, not buying his excuse at all, but he could see her reluctantly deciding to let it go. It was one of the many issues of contention between them that simply weren't worth it. Instead, she veered onto a different topic.

"I walked all the way here... just sort of stumbled on this place by accident, yesterday morning. They found me unconscious and brought me back to their house. They didn't recognize me," she added hastily, knowing he'd be concerned.

"Good thing," he muttered, stroking her calf in a distracted manner, miserable at the fact that she'd been _unconscious_. He should have been with her.

"They're great, though. The family," she said. "They offered to let me stay as long as I needed to. And giving us this place all to ourselves..." she trailed off.

"Seem like nice people," Sawyer agreed. To be honest, he hadn't noticed much at all about the woman he'd been introduced to earlier. He'd still been too overwhelmed by the fact that he'd actually _found _Kate again - that it had been so relatively simple, considering how easily they could have missed each other by seconds and never been the wiser. He didn't believe in miracles, but it was surely the closest thing to one he'd ever experienced. But as far as the woman who lived here was concerned - all he'd picked up on was that she seemed to be happily married and fulfilled, in the sense that she wasn't looking for anyone else to help with the job. It was his natural, instinctive way of sizing women up. He'd always been able to tell, after only a few minutes of interaction, whether they were potential marks for a con, or at the very least, potential lays. If they were neither, they quickly lost his interest. He realized now that this unconscious method of categorization could probably stand a little adjustment. It wasn't necessary now, anyway. Not while he was with Kate.

She was watching him as if she was trying to guess what he was thinking. Before he could say anything, a slight tapping sound started up from the direction of the window. Kate looked over, alarmed.

"Sleet," he told her. "Big storm comin' in. Heard about it on the radio."

She nodded a little, relieved but still tense. "Maybe we shouldn't stay here, then. We might get trapped. Snowed in." She looked back at him, wanting his opinion.

"Doesn't look like we have much choice," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Not for tonight anyway."

"It just seems like a bad idea," she said. "If they're coming after you..."

"They ain't comin' after me," he interrupted, giving her a meaningful look. The time had come, he decided. He needed to tell her. It would be cruel to put it off any longer.

Her brow creased in perplexity. "I don't understand. How did you escape?"

"I didn't." He waited a second before delivering his next remark, settling back into the pillows again as if he wanted to get comfortable. "Sons-of-bitches let me go."

Kate rose up into a sitting position now, gazing at him with growing intentness. "What?" she demanded. "_Why_?"

He sighed heavily, preparing to dive into the important part of the tale. "That guy... Paul. Your _brother_, or whatever the hell he is," he added, unable to keep a hint of scorn out of his tone, though he at least made the effort. "Turns out he ain't as bad as I thought he was." He narrowed his eyes at her. "You can gloat later, all right?"

But she didn't seem to have gloating on her mind at all. She listened with a brittle, desperate air, waiting for him to continue.

"Anyway," Sawyer said. "I guess he got wind of what happened out in the woods... at that ranger's station. So he pulls some strings, rigs it up to look like they found your body in the rubble. Apparently he knows how to _do that kind of thing_," Sawyer threw in sarcastically. "And they swallowed it, hook line and sinker. Suppose they figured it wasn't worth their while to keep me around, considering the only reason they wanted _me _was to get their hands on _you_. Once they got wind of the fact that their poster girl was dead, the jig was up. Threw me out in the alley like a stray cat with the mange." He gave her a winning smirk with this last bit of information. Then he sat back and waited to see what would happen.

She still scanned his features, waiting for more, seemingly unable to comprehend the meaning of what he was telling her. Swallowing hard, she finally asked in a tight, carefully controlled voice, "How can you be sure they really believe it?"

"Oh, they believe it, all right," he assured her. "Hell, they couldn't wait to close the case and get away from this damn North Pole. Heard it with my own ears. They're probably already back home, tappin' some oil magnate's phone lines, or screwin' their maids. Amazing how fast they can close up shop once they lose interest."

She looked away from him, trying to digest all this information. He could see the emotions playing out on her face, visibly, right in front of his eyes. She was obviously afraid to let herself trust him. But he could see that she wanted to, more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life.

Hesitantly, he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it between both of his, not wanting to disturb her more than that. He could sense a need for distance that he was willing to respect. "It's all over," he said, dropping his voice to a low, serious murmur, trying to make her understand. "As far as the Feds are concerned, Kate Austen died in that fire."

He waited until she met his eyes again, biting her lip and looking so strangely fragile in the terrifying shadow of her hope. Just above a whisper, he told her, "You're free, baby."

And now she finally let it through, absorbing it and accepting it. Her face crumpled a bit and she looked away from him, taking her hand back from his grip and drawing it up protectively toward her chest. She remained frozen for a second, and then, shifting herself slowly over to the edge of the bed, she stood up and moved off toward the window. Sawyer stayed right where he was, watching her, giving her space. He had no desire to intrude on this moment. She would come back to him when she was ready.

She stood facing away from him, her arms crossed in front of her, her head lowered. He could see her shaking a little as she tried to get her emotions under control. Suddenly, with an unplanned motion, she reached out and pulled the cord to the drapes, opening them wide. When she finally took a few deep breaths and looked out, Sawyer felt like he was witnessing someone who had been weighted down for years with invisible shackles step free of the heavy burden for the first time. It was a remarkable transformation. Her posture relaxed and straightened out, and a stillness crept over her, suffusing her with a calm that he'd rarely seen her possessed of.

The window was a black square of winter night, and the sleet and snow drove against it hypnotically, making the room seem even more glowing and warm in contrast. With the lights on inside here, she had to know that she was perfectly visible to anyone who happened to be looking in. And yet she stood there anyway. It was the most subtle, understated declaration of freedom Sawyer could ever have imagined anyone engaging in, but he knew how momentous such a small thing was for her. The simple act of standing in front of a window without danger was something everybody else took for granted. But for Kate, it represented the difference between living in fear, and living in safety. It was the difference between being a fugitive, and not being a fugitive.

Finally, after a long interval, she turned back around to face him, focusing in on him as if she'd almost forgotten he was there.

"Not gonna try to burn yourself up again, are ya?" he asked with a joking wariness.

She laughed, the smile illuminating her entire face beautifully. "I don't think so. But _you _keep the lighter, just in case."

He grinned back at her. "Will do."

She took another deep breath, looking around with a far-off expression. "This is gonna take a long time to get used to," she said softly. "It changes everything."

Now he found himself becoming slightly worried that she would get a little _too _carried away. In a cautious tone, he warned her, "He thinks we oughtta stay up north here, to be on the safe side, at least until..." He glanced at her stomach, finding to his irritation that he still wasn't quite capable of just saying the damn words. "Until the media hype dies down," he finished lamely.

"Yeah," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears as if she wasn't really listening. "That's probably a good idea." She looked back at Sawyer again, like she'd just thought of something. "How did he do it? How is it even possible, to pull something like that off?" She paused. "Did you help him?"

He stared down at the bedspread, wishing more than anything that he could answer _yes _to that question. "'Fraid not," he said in an attempt at a distanced tone, hating himself. "He wrote you a letter, though... I got it somewhere. Maybe he explains it in there." He made a move as if to search through his cast-off clothing, but Kate held up her hand to stop him.

"That's okay," she said. "I'll read it later."

A few more seconds went by, and she still seemed to be in something of a daze. She remained near the window, lost in thought. Sawyer was starting to get a little impatient. "You just gonna stand over there all night, or what?"

She smiled at him again, then grabbed the cord and closed the drapes, but in a careless manner this time, not even bothering to make sure they met in the middle. She came back to the bed and sank down into his arms, nestling her head underneath his chin. She took a deep breath, and he felt her body relax into his completely. He closed his eyes for a second as he held her, concentrating on the warm weight of her, the way she fit against him perfectly. This was the body that he'd been so convinced was lifeless and non-existent, reduced to charred fragments. This living, breathing, thinking, feeling woman had, in his mind, been _dead_. How the hell was it possible? He couldn't seem to wrap his head around it, couldn't reconcile this current situation with what he'd been so sure of only yesterday.

"Kate," he said, needing to tell her what he'd been through.

She waited a second before responding, sounding sleepy. "What?"

But the words wouldn't come. How did you tell someone that you'd processed their death? Was there anything he could say that would do it justice, or that would even begin to convey what he'd experienced? And why did he need to talk about it, anyway? Was he turning into one of _those _guys - the ones who wanted to _talk about their feelings_? Just the idea caused a brief flurry of panic in his mind.

"Money's gone," he told her instead, convincing himself that it was what he'd intended all along. "Bastards took every last cent. Guess they knew there wasn't much I could do about it."

She didn't even raise her head. "It doesn't matter," she said with obvious unconcern. "We can make more money. There's still close to twenty grand left... everything I couldn't fit in the lining of the coat." She thought for a second. "And there's that eight thousand in Canadian money from that scam in British Columbia, remember?"

"_Right," _he said. "Forgot about that one."

"See? We'll be fine." She kissed his neck in a contented manner. "We'll figure something out."

_We'll be fine. We'll figure something out._ What was it about those words that made him nervous, all of a sudden? They seemed ordinary enough. Then he realized it was the way she used the word "_we'll_." The easy, unconscious way she spoke of them as a unit, as if it were inevitable, as if it would continue. But why should that make him nervous? It was like his subconscious mind was already on the verge of doing something that the rest of him wasn't aware of. He was gearing up for something, and it scared the hell out of him. But if part of his mind was headed in that dangerous, thrilling direction, then there was something he had to make sure of first. There was something that he'd needed to do for quite some time now, and he couldn't put it off any longer. Her reaction to what he was about to tell her would be the true test. Once it was over and done with, then he would know whether to proceed with his tentative plan or not.

But even after deciding on it, he'd be damned if it wasn't one of the most terrifying things he'd ever had to do.

"Hey," he said, speaking in what he hoped was a relatively casual manner. "You realize you never have asked me what the hell I was doin' down there in Australia?"

Now she lifted her head up, giving him a funny look. He couldn't blame her for being puzzled by the sheer randomness of the topic. "I figured if I did, you wouldn't tell me," she said slowly.

"Try it."

"Okay," she said, laughing a little. "What were you doing in Australia?"

But there wasn't even a trace of amusement on Sawyer's face. He was dead serious, and obviously miserable. Kate waited for him to begin, confused now, and gradually growing more serious herself.

Swallowing hard, he finally forced himself to speak, in a low, gravelly voice filled with self-loathing. "Couple days before the plane took off... you know the one," he clarified wryly. "I bought me a gun on the black market. Paid cash for it... made sure there was no way to trace it. Ain't as easy to do Down Under as it is here," he added as an aside. "You know those fast-food stands... sell stuff right by the water? Well, I went to one... late at night, after it was closed. Guy who owned it was takin' the trash out, back by the dumpsters. And I killed him." He waited a second before going on, looking right into her eyes, forcing himself not to drop his stony gaze. "Shot him point-blank, right in the chest. Bled like a stuck pig... I watched him bleed to death in front of me. Then I walked away. Didn't look back." He stopped talking now, almost glaring at Kate, his eyes filled with a deep-seated pain that tried to masquerade as defiance, as though he were asking her, _What do you think about that_?

He watched her draw back from him a bit, the conflicting emotions playing across her features as she tried to process this information. There was a trace of disgust there, which he'd been craving somehow, as much as it hurt him to see it. There was also the faintest vestige of annoyance, as if she were pissed at him for deliberately ruining what had been such a perfect evening. But mostly, she just seemed thoughtful. She looked away from him, still silent. He could feel how tense his body was, waiting to see how this would go. He prayed she didn't notice it.

Finally, she looked back at him. Her voice was soft. "You thought it was him, didn't you? The man you were looking for?" She waited a beat. "The one you wrote the letter to?"

It took him a long time to answer. He was afraid of giving too much away, so he allowed himself time to regain his emotional composure. "Yeah," he eventually rasped, echoing her words. "I _thought it was him_. Turns out the whole thing was a setup - guy owed someone money." Sawyer gave an unconvincing scoff. "Suppose he thought he could use me as a hit man, and that I'd never know the difference. You wanna know the truth, I think I'd've been better off if I never _had _known it."

She continued to watch him. "You know what I think?"

He almost expected to hear a lecture on why, even if it had been the man he was looking for, it wouldn't have made things any better. But it seemed he'd underestimated her. Her next remark was deceptively simple.

"I think we've seen too much death." She smiled a little, sadly, grasping his fingers the way he'd grasped hers earlier. "I hope we don't have to see any more."

Her expression as she looked at him now contained not a hint of horror, or contempt, or even pity. It was nothing more than pure, unadorned _understanding_. Was there a single other person on the planet who could ever look at him the way she was doing right now? There couldn't be, not anywhere. She was the one. The only one. And he suddenly realized that his decision had been made while he wasn't even aware of it.

Kate shook her head a little, still not sure what this was all about. "What made you think of that, anyway? Why are you telling me this _now_?"

He smiled a little, feeling like himself again. "Just givin' you one more chance."

"One more chance to _what_?" she asked. Then she guessed it. "To run?" She smiled again, challengingly, like she was up for another round. "Nice try. What else you got?"

And that was his cue, he supposed. Sitting up, he stretched his arm out and grabbed his coat from the chair near the bed, dragging it back toward him. From the inner pocket, he took the yellow manila envelope out and then tossed the coat back at the chair.

Kate watched, intrigued. "What's that?" she asked, gesturing at the packet.

"It's all they left me with, after they cleaned out the cash," he explained. "_Personal effects_, is what they called it. In other words, the shit they didn't want." Reaching down into the corner of the envelope, he drew something out, but then clasped his hands together and doubled them both into fists, holding them out in front of Kate.

"Pick one," he instructed with a sly expression.

"What have you got, Sawyer?" she asked, smiling suspiciously.

He pretended to be fed up with her. "Would you just play the damn _game_, girl?"

She glanced at him again, affectionately wary, but then looked back down at his hands, debating with herself. Finally, she tapped the left one, indicating her decision.

"Good choice," he said, opening both hands. The right one was empty. The left one wasn't.

Kate stared down at the tiny gold wedding band, her smile fading in her initial surprise and wonder, but then gradually resurrecting itself after a few seconds, though in a more subtle, low-key fashion. She nodded almost imperceptibly, as if she'd caught him at something. "You _did _bring it. I knew you were lying when you said you didn't."

He didn't respond to this directly, other than to give her a self-effacing smirk as he dropped his gaze. Rolling the ring between his thumb and index finger, he said in a mock-renunciatory tone, "Well. Guess we could always take your advice... pawn it somewhere. Wouldn't bring in a hell of a lot, but every little bit helps, right?"

"We _could _do that," she said, pretending to agree with him, though neither one of them was fooling anybody. "But I have a better idea."

He looked at her for a second, trying to remain cautious. "And what's that?"

She stared back at him meaningfully, her joking attitude suddenly evaporating. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. "Why don't you put it on my hand?"

He stopped rolling the ring, still staring at her. It took him awhile to answer. "You sure about that?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't sure."

He sat up straighter now, wanting to step carefully, to cover all the angles. "Don't forget about what you said back in Kentucky. We can't even use our own identities... Remember? It ain't like it's gonna be the real thing." He echoed her own words back to her, a little embarrassed by the fact that he remembered them so clearly.

"Yes it will be," she said, her voice insistent and firm. "I was wrong. It's real if we say it is." She scanned his face intently, trying to see if he understood what she was getting at. "We don't need some piece of paper, or a minister... or... or _witnesses_," she added, pronouncing the word with scorn. She shook her head, vehement. "We don't need anybody else."

"Well, hell, Freckles, I didn't realize you were such a rebel," Sawyer said, hiding his overwhelming relief and gratitude under a joke. "You want to burn your bra, while we're at it? Ahh.. that's right," he said, as if he'd just remembered. "You don't _have _one."

"Sawyer." She smiled at him, forcing him to focus. Holding out her left hand to him, she took a deep breath, and then said a soft yet excited manner, "_Do it_."

He looked at her one more time, checking to see if she was absolutely positive, and then took her wrist in one hand while with his other he slowly, almost sensuously, slid the ring from the tip of her finger down toward the base.

"I'll be damned," he muttered under his breath. "Perfect fit and everything."

She held her hand up, splaying her fingers out and turning her wrist slowly from one side to the other, examining the way the ring looked. It _did _fit perfectly - like it had been made for her. Sawyer detected just the faintest shine of unshed tears in her eyes, but she didn't allow them to fall.

"We'll have to get you one, too," she told him, swallowing back emotion.

He thought about telling her he wasn't big on jewelry, but decided it would be best not to say anything. His internal censor rarely worked, so he tried to pay attention to its advice when it did.

Kate seemed to be waiting for something. He raised his eyebrows, questioningly. She leaned toward him a little, as if she were going to tell him a secret. "I think you're supposed to kiss the bride," she whispered.

He cocked his head, like this was all news to him. "So _that's _how it works_." _Moving in toward her, he crushed her lips against his in his urgent, bruising passion. He exerted so much pressure on her that she leaned back into the pillows again, pulling him down with her. After a minute or so he allowed her to catch her breath as he began trailing his kisses down along her jaw line to her neck, then to her chest. From there he rolled the bottom of her t-shirt up and gazed intensely at her stomach.

Taking his hand, she guided it to a spot just below her navel that was firmer than the rest of her abdomen, the swelling there just barely perceptible. "Feel it?" she asked quietly.

He did. For the first time, he actually _did _feel something. Looking up at her almost shyly, he remarked, "Gettin' bigger, isn't it?"

She nodded, and for some reason she didn't seem to be able to say anything else. He lowered his head toward her stomach, moving his lips around the spot she'd indicated, kissing it over and over again in a manner that verged on worship, delighting in the warm, satiny feel of her skin. This was something he hadn't allowed himself to do yet - not once, since they'd found out. In a way, he was glad that his hair was just long enough to obscure his features from her.

After a few seconds of this adoration, he heard her sniffle. She laid her hand on the back of his head. "Sawyer."

He looked up to find her brushing a tear away, embarrassed.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Go for it," he told her, curious.

She began tentatively. "Do you think someday... Not right away," she hastened to add. "I don't mean right away. But maybe, in the future..." She stopped again, gathering courage. "Will you let me call you James?"

The sound of it caught him off guard, as always. But for the first time, it was something of a pleasurable shock, rather than a painful one. He considered her request. "Guess maybe I could get used to that," he said in a meditative tone, as if they were negotiating. Then he added with emphasis, "_Someday_."

"Okay," she said, smiling. She unconsciously rubbed the ring on her left hand, adjusting to the feel of it there. "Maybe I will, then. _Someday_," she repeated.

They shared a look of secretive complicity, and then Kate closed her eyes as Sawyer lowered his head again and resumed kissing her stomach. He wasn't quite ready to stop yet.


	37. Chapter 37

First off, I just want to apologize from the bottom of my heart for the incredibly long gap between the last chapter and this one. All I can offer in explanation is the fact that I got so caught up in Lost and the real Sawyer and Kate that when I had time to be at the computer, I only wanted to be on Lost-Forum and looking for spoilers. I couldn't seem to concentrate on writing my version. But now that we're in hiatus again, I've got my writing mojo back, and I plan to finish the fic (three more chapters after this one) before the show returns in February. If you know anyone who's given up on me ever updating again, please help me spread the word that there's a new chapter... I'd hate to lose anybody who's made it this far. I value each and every reader. And thank you so much for reviewing!

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**Chapter 37**

There was just enough gray morning light seeping around the edges of the closed curtains for Kate to be able to see by. She considered getting out of bed, but then decided against it. The air of the room against her face felt cold and uninviting, and their bodies had created a delectable warm haven underneath the covers. So instead, she rolled over onto her side and prepared to indulge in a luxury that she very rarely allowed herself - watching Sawyer sleep.

It was a rare activity, for one thing, because there'd simply never been much time for it. Their lives over these past few weeks of travel had been lived at such a frantic pace that waking up in the morning was more of a chore than a romantic ritual to be enjoyed. But more important than the lack of time was Kate's uneasy sense that there was something far too intimate about watching someone else sleep. It was an act of possession, and for a long time, even after knowing and accepting exactly how far she'd fallen in love, she'd been afraid of what such an act meant. She'd been afraid of possessing, and she'd been afraid of being possessed. But last night, when she'd allowed Sawyer to slip that tiny gold band onto her finger, the fear had uncoiled itself from around her and drifted away like smoke. As far as she could tell, there were no vestiges of it remaining.

So now, she settled comfortably back into the pillow and allowed herself to look at him. He was lying on his back, as usual, with one arm flung out to the side and the other resting on his midsection. His right hand lay palm upwards, almost as if he were waiting for something to be placed in it. Kate let her eyes linger on his long, tapering fingers and slightly callused palm before traveling up the length of his arm to his chest, still compact and well-muscled despite the fact that he hadn't had any excuse to swing an axe for awhile now. She continued on to his neck and cheeks, where she reminded herself once again that she would have to talk to Alicia about finding a razor around here somewhere. But even the scruffy beard growth couldn't detract from the expression on his face, and that was her favorite part about this secret scrutiny. His face only looked this way when he was asleep, and though she'd seen it quite a few times by now, she never felt that she was familiar enough with it to want to stop looking.

It was the face of a much younger man that he presented while he slept, and not just younger in years, but younger in experience and suffering. The creased lines of his brow smoothed out into an even, blank canvas where it seemed the pain of loss hadn't yet laid its brush, and that pleated wrinkle at the bridge of his nose which always signified irritation or sadness was flat and tranquil now. The veined, almost transparent skin of his eyelids rested without a trace of a squint, and his jaw was unclenched and relaxed. His entire face seemed to radiate an aura of peacefulness and repose, as well as a kind of innocence that never failed to fascinate Kate, even while it awakened her compassion and tenderness. When he was sleeping, he was only James, and not Sawyer.

How many women had seen him like this? Probably more than she'd care to know about, she imagined. But still, she didn't think any of that really counted. Because they hadn't _known _him. Not the way she did, at least. And so they couldn't possibly know what it meant to see him this way. She wondered idly if he ever watched _her _sleep, and if he did, what did she look like to him? It was one of those questions that she would probably never know the answer to.

Leaning up onto her elbow now to peer down at him, she thought back to the earlier times when she'd done this. The first was after he'd been stabbed in the arm, and she'd hung around to keep an eye on him, all the while trying to figure out what his letter meant. Even then, when he was still practically a stranger, she'd seen something in his face while he slept that she'd felt the need to reach out to, to search for beneath the layers of bitterness and suavity that he kept it buried under while awake. The time after that, they'd been out in the jungle together, and she'd witnessed the nightmare overtake him, the approaching signs of which she'd recognized all too well. The third time, and the one she remembered with the most fondness, was that first morning in Tennessee, after she'd written out a grocery list and then silently entered his room and sank down onto the foot of his bed. That time, she'd intended to wake him up, but once she began to watch him sleep, she'd found to her surprise that she didn't have the heart to. So she'd simply crossed her legs underneath her and waited, without making a sound, for it to happen on its own.

Now, as then, he seemed to have some kind of peripheral awareness of what was going on, because it wasn't long before he began to stir, making the motions of someone coming up out of sleep. He grimaced a little, pursing his lips and bringing one hand up to rub at his eyes while he blinked heavily a few times and rolled over onto his side, facing Kate. He seemed to need a few seconds to remember where he was, and how they'd come to be here. She smiled a bit at his disorientation, understanding it perfectly. Even though she'd been awake for awhile, it was still hard for her to absorb the fact that he was really with her again, and that the news he'd given her last night was true. How could something she'd wanted so badly actually turn out to be real? It still didn't seem possible.

She waited until he appeared to have a handle on the course of events that had brought them both here, watching the memory slowly filter into his awareness before she spoke. "Hey."

He gave her a small smile with raised eyebrows, shifting a bit on the pillow. "Hey, yourself." His voice was still husky with sleep.

Then they simply looked at each other without moving, their heads on the pillows separated by only a few feet of distance. A sort of tentative shyness seemed to settle over them, an occurrence that they weren't at all used to. Sawyer lowered his eyes a little, and Kate bit her bottom lip, still smiling. Everything felt new this morning.

"We snowed in, Freckles?"

She looked over toward the curtained window, then back at him. "I don't know," she answered sleepily. "Why don't you go look?"

He gave her a sly grin, not accepting the challenge. "Why don't _you _go look?"

"We'll both go," she offered. "Count of three. One... two..." She paused after two, then went on to the final number. "Three." Neither one of them moved a muscle.

"You didn't get up," she said.

"Neither did you."

Smiling, she pulled herself over to him and leaned onto his chest, the covers slipping down to her waist. "Let's just assume for argument's sake that we _are _snowed in." Before he could answer, she kissed him.

When she leaned back, he traced his fingers lightly over the line of her collarbone, reveling in the presence of her. Then he let his eyes roam up to the ceiling and around the room, contemplative. "Sorry about the white trash honeymoon," he told her in a jokingly regretful tone.

She laughed a little. "It's not bad, for a trailer."

"It ain't Hawaii, though."

In response to this, she tucked her head under his chin and relaxed against him. "We don't need Hawaii," she whispered contentedly.

After a few seconds of silence, she felt herself rise slightly and then sink again as he took a deep breath prior to speaking. "So what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are we goin' on up to that preserve? Or are we gonna take our chances back down south?" She recognized the way he tried to keep his voice light and casual, even though it was a weighty topic. "We got options now, don't forget."

"Options," she repeated, the word strange to her. "I don't really know what to do with options." Raising up again, she spoke close to his lips. "Here's an idea, though. Let's start with breakfast. Then we'll just... go from there."

"Sounds like a plan," he said. Then he added, raising his eyebrows mischievously, "You gonna cook?"

She pretended to be shocked. "I have a sprained ankle."

"Oh, so _now _you're gonna play the ankle card," he teased her. "I see how it is. Only when it's convenient, right?"

"I thought you wanted to take care of me."

With a roguish look, he ran his hands down her midsection to her hips, giving her a quick tug that brought her even closer against him. "I got better ways to take care of you than _breakfast_, sweetheart," he muttered suggestively into her ear.

Kate closed her eyes as he began kissing her neck, his hands moving up underneath the white t-shirt that was the only article of clothing she wore. She shifted against him, her pulse already speeding up as he nipped lightly along her shoulder, but then she suddenly pulled back with a modest grimace. "Sawyer, wait," she told him. "I have to pee."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me," he mumbled into her skin, clearly amused.

Giggling, she climbed over him and slid off the edge of the bed. "I'll be right back."

He watched her disappear toward the bathroom, crossing his arms behind his head in a patient gesture. Then, glancing toward the window, he kicked the covers away and stood up, moving nearer and pulling the curtains back curiously. As he'd expected, and as he'd somewhat hoped, the snow drifts lay deep against the side of the mobile home and everything else within sight. The sky was still gray, and light flakes dusted down halfheartedly, but it seemed the real storm was over. The entire world within his field of vision was a uniform white, save for one distracting flare of red at a distance of a few yards. As he squinted and looked closer, he saw that this tiny patch of red, barely tall enough to peek above the snow, was moving doggedly toward their door, plowing through the drifts with almost comical persistence.

"Think we really are at the North Pole, Freckles!" he hollered back toward the bathroom. "Looks like we got ourselves an elf comin' to visit."

"_What_?" Her confused response was muffled by the closed door.

"Could be a midget," he said to himself, wryly, still looking out with interest.

When the mysterious small red bundle reached the steps, he moved to open the door, letting it inside along with a gust of freezing wind and snowflakes. By the time he had it shut, he could see that what stood in front of him was actually a little girl, wrapped up within an inch of her life in thick winter clothing. Her arms stuck out from her sides like a penguin's, and the only section of face visible was her eyes. As he watched, she unwound a scarf with great effort, yanked off a hat and then another hood underneath that, letting a cascade of tangled blonde hair spill out. She then pulled off two sets of gloves and tried with futility to unzip her coat, the collar of which came up over her mouth.

Seeing that she wasn't having much luck, Sawyer reluctantly kneeled and caught the zipper himself, pulling it down for her.

"Thanks," the little girl said, out of breath. Her eyes shone with expectation. "Is Kate here?"

Sawyer settled back onto the edge of the bed, not sure what to make of this strange encounter. "I'm afraid she's indisposed at the moment," he said, cocking his head a little to the side.

"What does that mean?" the girl asked, puzzled.

With a scoff, Sawyer raised his hand and then let it fall back into his lap, helplessly. "It means she's in the _bathroom_, Punky Brewster."

"My name is Grace," she corrected him. "Who are you?"

"I'm the butler," Sawyer told her, beginning to enjoy this exchange.

Grace looked him up and down, skeptically. "No you're not."

"Oh, really?" He tilted his chin up, questioning her. "And how do you know that?"

She cast a pointed glance at his too-large boxer shorts. "Because you're not wearing any pants."

He looked down, a bit annoyed at being bested by a pre-schooler. "Well, maybe I'm the kinda butler that don't _wear _pants. You ever think of that?"

She continued to size him up, in that pendulous moment of fate in which a child decides whether she's going to like someone or not. Sawyer waited a bit tensely, wondering why he cared. Then Grace gave him a genuine smile of affection. "You're funny," she said with a wrinkle of her nose.

Just then, Kate came back into the room. "Hi, Grace."

Jubilant, the girl ran to her. "Look!" she demanded, proudly raising her lip as far as she could toward her gum line.

"You lost a tooth?" Kate asked with a smile, noticing the gap.

"Yep! This morning. It didn't hurt at all." She reached into her pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. "And I brought your horse picture back. Sorry I said you couldn't have it."

Kate reached out and took the page, careful to keep it from tearing. "That's okay. I'm glad you changed your mind."

Sawyer finally spoke up again. "You gonna introduce me to your friend, Freckles?"

"Of course," she said gallantly, leading Grace forward. "This is Mark and Alicia's daughter. Grace, this is Sawyer. He's my..." she hesitated just long enough for the little girl to interrupt.

"_Butler_?"

Kate looked at Sawyer while he smirked at her over the top of the girl's head. "Is that what he told you?" she asked with a slight roll of the eyes.

"Uh-huh. But I didn't believe him," Grace added. "Because butlers wear pants."

"You're a smart girl," Kate assured her.

"Can you come over again and play with me?" she pleaded now, grabbing Kate's hand and leaning back so she could stare straight up at her with a hopeful expression.

She started to say yes, but then wondered if Sawyer would be hurt or annoyed by her leaving him alone, even briefly, so soon after they'd just been reunited. And especially when they'd been about to have pre-breakfast sex. Come to think of it, she wasn't too keen on leaving either. She decided to bring him into the conversation. "I'm not sure, Grace," she said, as if the choice didn't rest with her. "You'll have to ask _him_."

The little girl turned to Sawyer, not seeming at all surprised by this. "Can she?"

"Well, now..." he said, pretending to consider the matter seriously. "I don't know about that. She's on probation."

"What's that?" Grace asked in awe, apparently not familiar with the term. Kate tried to keep from laughing.

"It means..." Sawyer said, feeling silly but playing along anyway. "She's in _trouble_."

"Why?"

"Because..." He looked to Kate for help, but she only smiled and waited, refusing to offer any assistance. He finally seemed to hit on a response that suited him, and he told Grace with an air of finality, "She didn't cook breakfast. That's why."

Kate worked hard to assume a sheepish expression as Grace turned back to her.

"Can't you just cook it now, and _then _we can go to my house?" the girl asked, trying to find a solution that would suit all three of them.

"Knock, knock!" a woman's voice suddenly called from the front door, as it blew open with a gust of wind and then was firmly shut again. Alicia pulled her own wool hat away from where it had fallen over her eyes, scanning the room. "There you are!" she said accusingly, spotting her daughter. "I'm so sorry... I tried to keep up with her, but she just went on ahead without me." She looked from Kate to Sawyer, now noticing that they were barely clothed. "I hope she didn't... interrupt anything," she finished, awkwardly.

"Not at all," Kate reassured her. "We were just waking up, actually. It's nice to sleep late for a change."

Alicia smiled, and then suddenly caught sight of the wedding band on Kate's finger, knowing with a woman's attention to detail that it hadn't been there yesterday. "Oh," she said in a strange voice. "I didn't realize you two were married."

"Yeah," Kate said, looking at Sawyer. She'd only meant to glance at him, but she found she couldn't look away. "We are," she said in a soft voice, giving him a meaningful smile. Finally, she turned back to Alicia, a little embarrassed.

"How nice," Alicia replied, her words sounding oddly hollow. Her manner was completely different than it had been before Sawyer arrived, and Kate had an uneasy feeling about what might be the cause. She remembered how simple it had been to let the older woman think that she was a victim, running from her abuser. At the time, it had seemed like the perfect story. But she could now predict that it was only going to complicate a situation that was already complicated enough.

"Well...," Alicia continued, as if getting down to business. "I imagine you'd probably like to do some laundry. There's a washer and dryer over in the lounge.. that's where the miners congregate when they're not working. There's also plenty of food in storage. Just ask for Curtis... he's in charge of all that. He'll get you anything you need."

"Thank you," Kate repeated. "It's so nice of you to let us stay here. I can't tell you how much I... we _both_..," she corrected, "appreciate it."

"It's no problem at all," Alicia said. Then, as if forcing herself, she turned to Sawyer, speaking in a politely strained voice. "I'm sure you must be exhausted, after your hike over from the logging road."

"Tell you the truth, I never felt better in my life," he said affably with his trademark charming smile. "Guess it's because I finally found what I was lookin' for." He gave Kate a pointed stare. "And I ain't lettin' her outta my sight again." They smiled at each other, but Alicia didn't seem pleased.

"I see," she said with reserve. A tense silence followed.

Grace stepped in front of her mother, trying to enlist her sympathy. "Kate can't come over and play because she's in trouble. She didn't cook breakfast."

Feeling a blush creep to her cheeks immediately, Kate laughed. "Grace, honey, he was just teasing you about that. I'm not really in trouble." She looked at Alicia, now seeing how their silly little act could be misinterpreted to Sawyer's disadvantage.

Sawyer winked at the little girl, playfully. "Gotta learn to take a joke, munchkin."

Seeming increasingly troubled, Alicia changed the subject. "How's the ankle?"

"It's good as new," Kate said, more chipper than she needed to be.

"Or at least it _would _be if she'd quit standin' around on it," Sawyer piped up in a mock-frustrated tone, hooking his arm around her waist and yanking her gently back onto the edge of the bed with him. Although this was the same kind of adorably stubborn protective gesture she had grown accustomed to from him, at the moment, Kate could have kicked him for it. It only made things worse.

Alicia gave Sawyer a look of barely restrained distaste, and then forced herself to break her stare. "Well, we'll leave you two alone. I just wanted to stop by and let you know about the facilities." She turned her attention to Kate now, her voice growing urgent with solicitude and concern. "If you need anything at all... _anything_... we're just right up the hill." She added with emphasis, "Practically within shouting distance."

Desperate for this awkward encounter to be at an end, Kate responded with a simple and heartfelt, "Thank you."

Alicia turned to her daughter. "Come on, Gracie."

"I want to stay!"

"Don't argue with me," she said firmly, taking her hand and gathering up all the discarded clothing items from the floor. Chastened by her mother's unusual mood, Grace didn't continue to whine.

"I'll come and visit later, I promise," Kate said as the girl was pushed out the door.

Alicia turned back, once more. "Don't forget what I said." She glanced at Sawyer quickly, then gave Kate a pointed nod before closing the door behind her.

Sawyer's expression was one of baffled amusement. "What the hell was that about?"

"What do you mean?"

"She seems awful damn neighborly for someone you just met day before yesterday."

Kate shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "I didn't notice." Turning back to him, she pushed on his chest until he gave in to her demands and let himself fall back onto the mattress again. She straddled him with her knees and leaned over him with a wicked smile, letting her hair drape itself across his face. "Now, where were we?" she whispered.

He slid his hands down to her waist, rubbing circles on her stomach through the fabric of the shirt. "Right about here, wasn't it?"

"Hmm..." she said, in-between kisses. She grasped his hands and repositioned them underneath the shirt. "I think it was more like, _here_."

"I believe you're right," he agreed in a low growl, pulling her closer again and forgetting for the moment that there were any people on the planet other than her.

* * *

Over the next few days, they didn't leave the trailer much more than was necessary. The snow provided a welcome excuse to stay put, and they took full advantage of it, lavishing attention on each other, trying to make up in quality for the sheer quantity of hardships they'd had to face. It was a charmed interval that reminded Kate, vaguely, of those few perfect weeks after they'd first accepted the notion of some kind of relationship, back in the fall, at Sawyer's house. They'd come a long way since then, it was true - a long way in both literal distance, and in emotional miles. But the sense of newness was similar, the feeling of euphoria that surrounded them like a bubble, making them live entirely in the present without regard to past or future.

They spent the majority of every day in bed, and another large portion in the shower. Delighted by the sheer abundance of food at their disposal after hovering near the brink of starvation, they tried to cook things that they had no idea how to cook. Some of these experiments turned out well, others were nowhere near edible, but all of the efforts were enjoyed equally. They managed to get their hands on a radio that only picked up one station, and to their surprise, they found that one station was all they needed. Kate also discovered, in the back of a closet and hidden underneath a sheet, a stack of dirty magazines left behind by the trailer's previous occupant. She reluctantly revealed her find to Sawyer, and to enable them both to enjoy the stash, he flipped through them all with a studious, critical air, comparing each naked woman unfavorably to Kate while she laughed in approval.

When they were tired of being cooped up indoors, they went for short walks around the mining camp and down to the lake, sometimes alone, and sometimes with Grace acting as their enthusiastic tour guide. The little girl became a frequent visitor to the trailer, although Alicia usually arrived soon after to collect her, unwilling to let her stay for long intervals. At first, Sawyer assumed the woman was just an overprotective and slightly paranoid mother, but her behavior wasn't the only strange thing about this place. More and more, their happy bubble was penetrated by his growing sense that something was _off_, and Kate's frequent denials and attempts to change the subject only made him more suspicious. The husband, Mark, returned home from Seattle after two days had passed, and his attitude was as inscrutable as his wife's. The two of them hovered over Kate as if she were their daughter, and not someone they'd only met a few days ago. At one point, in the middle of a tickling frenzy that drew delighted yelps from Kate, their horseplay was interrupted by an alarmed pounding at the door, and Mark was only reluctantly convinced that everything was okay, and no assistance was required.

The miners, as well, seemed to regard him with a bizarre antipathy. At first, he'd simply chalked it up to the fact that they were jealous. After all, he had a young, gorgeous woman with him, all to himself, and these poor saps had nobody at all to keep them warm in this godforsaken wilderness. But the level of suspicion and animosity with which some of them viewed him seemed to go far beyond mere envy, and the source of it remained an enigma to him. In an effort to figure it out once and for all, he accepted a grudgingly extended invitation to a poker game towards the end of the week. Kate seemed to be all for it, telling him that it would be good for him to hang out with other men for a change. She had a backache anyway, she said, and she just wanted to lie on a heating pad and do nothing. So at around seven in the evening on Friday night, he headed over to the lounge, promising her a massage when he returned later.

Kate remained stretched out for awhile on the bed, listening to the nightly news broadcast on the radio, enjoying the fact that she didn't have to worry about hearing her name pop up on it anymore. She considered making some dinner, but the heat on her back felt too good, and she hovered near sleep. She was getting incredibly impatient with not being in top physical form, but she knew that she should probably resign herself to it for the next few months. It wasn't easy, because she had a record of almost perfect health, and she was accustomed to looking down on people who let sickness or mild injuries slow them up. If there was anything to be grateful for, she supposed it was the fact that the morning sickness had only bothered her for a few weeks, and hadn't returned once. She considered herself the undisputed victor in that case.

Much sooner than she'd anticipated, she heard steps outside, and the door swung open and then slammed shut. She opened her eyes to see Sawyer standing there, his expression dark and somewhat ashamed. His lip was swollen, and there was a small gash above his right temple that trickled blood down his cheek in a thin stream.

Kate sat up slowly, suppressing a weary sigh. "You've got to be kidding me."

He glared at her. "There any chance you could just skip the disgusted performance for once, and go get the damn peroxide?"

She watched him for a second, but then looked away and moved toward the kitchenette. He followed her and dropped heavily down at the tiny table. She drew up a chair next to him and, without a word, poured some of the peroxide onto a cotton ball and began to dab it onto the cut. He made a face at the sting, but stoically didn't move away.

"How do you do it, Sawyer?" she couldn't resist asking, shaking her head in mild bemusement.

"How do I do _what_?" he muttered with scorn, knowing exactly what she meant.

She picked up a new cotton ball. "If there were only five people left on the planet, you would manage to pick a fight with three of them."

"Well, just as long as I get to sleep with the other two, I reckon I'll make out just fine," he replied sarcastically. Then he paused, thinking about this. "Wait, they're not all _guys_, right?

She smiled a little, not answering. "So what happened? Someone refuse to pay up?"

"Somethin' like that." His voice was evasive, testing her.

She dropped her gaze and tried to sound casual. "Was it about me?"

"You think every fight I get in has to concern you?"

She lifted her eyebrows wryly, and he glanced away in annoyance, knowing that the answer to this was a resounding _Yes_.

"Did someone make an inappropriate comment?" she pressed him, peeling the sticky wrapping from a tiny adhesive bandage. "Tell me. I can take it. I'm sure I've heard worse."

He watched her for a few seconds, closely. "You want to tell me what the hell is going on up here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, smoothing the bandage over the cut while trying to keep his hair out of the way. He waited until she was finished.

"I think you do," he said in a low voice. "So why don't you just cut the crap for once and explain to me why every single person up here on this damn glacier except the little girl seems to think I'm kin to Hannibal Lecter. Or why I just got accused of stealin' a gun from a house I ain't ever _been in_." He continued to grow more irate as he talked. "Because I got to tell you sweetheart, I'm used to people not likin' me much. But it usually only happens _after _they get to know me a little. I got guys up here givin' me dirty looks who I ain't even _met_."

Kate listened to this, taking it in with regret. She gathered up the first-aid materials, shaking her head. "I can't believe she told them," she said under her breath.

"Told them what?" he demanded.

Moving toward the counter, she took her time placing the kit back inside the cabinet before she answered him. With a heavy sigh, she finally spoke. "There's a chance... that some of these people might be under the impression... that you're abusive." She stopped, and then added, unnecessarily, "To me."

"_What_?" His face registered so much bewilderment that it would have been funny if she wasn't so miserable about it. "And why the hell would they think that?"

"Well, look at the evidence," she said. "When I showed up here, I was in terrible shape. I was unconscious, I had a busted ankle... bruises and scrapes all over me."

"You fell down a damn ravine!" he shouted defensively.

Her next words were quieter. "I also had a handprint on my face. _Your _handprint."

She could see that this affected him, even though she hadn't wanted it to. "You were gettin' ready to hurl yourself into a fire," he hissed. "You had this _zombie _look in your eyes that scared me half to death... what the hell was I supposed to do? Watch you kill yourself?"

"I know why you did it, Sawyer," she said, trying to make him understand that she wasn't accusing him of anything. "You saved my life! You think I don't know that? But how can I explain something like that to them?" She waited for an answer, but none came. "She knew I was running from somebody. I couldn't deny that. And... she made her own assumptions about who it was. I thought I was leaving the next day. It made more sense to just... let her think she was right. I had no idea you'd ever show up here."

"Yeah, well, sorry to ruin your perfect cover story," he spat with contempt.

"Stop it," she in a low, cold tone, trying not to cry. She looked around helplessly. "I can't believe we're actually fighting about this. I thought _you _of all people would agree that I did the right thing. Can't you understand why it's better this way?"

"Better to let them think that I _beat _you?" he asked, incredulous.

"We're not gonna be here much longer," she argued, coming closer to him again. "A few more days at the most. Trying to explain the truth now... it's not worth it. After everything we've been through... when we're finally _free_... How can you ask me to do that? It's safer this way. You know it is."

He refused to look at her, and she sat down next to him again, putting her hand over his. "Look. I don't like it either, okay? But what difference does it really make what they think? They don't _know _you. But I do. I know the truth... and I _know _that you would never hurt me," she said, her voice shaking now. "Isn't that all that matters?"

Now he finally met her eyes again, her expression silently pleading with him not to press her any further, to drop it and let her continue to live her lie this one last time. She could see how disappointed he was in her, and his disappointment pierced her to the quick. Her own defense rang somewhat hollow in her ears, and she knew that the truth, deep-down beneath the logical reasoning, was that she simply didn't want to face up to her actions, didn't want to take responsibility, didn't want to be seen as the bad one. If she had something to hide behind, then she would hide behind it. The same old story. And he knew it as well as she did. Yet neither one of them said anything about it.

After an agonizing wait, she could see him giving in. He was going to do what she wanted, what she was desperately asking of him, even though there was a part of her that wished he wouldn't. "Yeah," he agreed in a somewhat defeated tone. "That's all that matters." He stood up, and she tried to convince herself that she had no reason to feel guilty.

"You come across any aspirin in this place, by any chance?" he asked, sounding tired.

"I haven't seen any."

"Then I think I'll just try to get some sleep." He turned to head back toward the bedroom area.

"Hey," Kate stood up, wanting to find some way to make it up to him, even though it wasn't really possible. "Alicia says the snow's melted enough to drive to this little village, over the border in Alaska. There's only about 800 people who live there, and it's a two-and-a-half hour drive, but she said there's a couple stores, a restaurant. You want to go with her tomorrow?"

Sawyer gave her an ironic motion of his head. "Love to, honeybunch, but somethin' tells me I'm probably not _invited_."

"I can ask..." she began.

"Don't bother," he said harshly. "Night."

"Sawyer." She swallowed back tears.

He turned toward her, questioningly, but the expression on his face was so unwelcoming of anything she might say that the words died in her throat.

"Good night," she muttered. He went into the other room. She sat back down at the table, by herself.

* * *

Sawyer didn't know what time it was when he woke up, but he knew that the bright lamp that had been switched on at the side of the bed likely had something to do with his reluctant struggle up out of sleep. He squinted against the light, already fighting a headache, and looked around in confusion.

Kate was sitting in a chair by the window, her legs drawn up to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. She was staring at the floor, rocking back and forth just a tiny bit. And there was something about the look on her face that scared the hell out of him.

He sat up, immediately wide awake. "What's wrong?"

It took a few seconds for her to respond, and when she did, she didn't move her gaze. "I, um... I got up to use the bathroom, and..." She stopped, and he waited, anxiously. "I'm sure it's probably nothing..." She stopped again, swallowing hard. "But there's some bleeding."

His mouth suddenly felt dry. "Bleeding where?"

Now she looked up at him, sharply. "Where do you think?"

He didn't say anything. He had no idea what to say. But she seemed to be waiting for something. "Does anything hurt?" he finally managed.

"No," she said. "Just my back, still. Nothing else."

Was that good? He had no idea whether that was a good sign or not.

"So," Kate continued, making her voice calm and even. "I think I'm gonna go in with Alicia, to that village, today. I know it's tiny, but there's a doctor there. It's the one she goes to. She said he's retired, I think, but... still, he's a doctor, you know? Just to... to find out what's wrong. _If _there's anything wrong." She finally stopped talking, almost as if she had to force herself.

"You want me to come?" Sawyer asked.

She bit her lip, thoughtfully. "It's up to you."

_Damn her_. Of course he would go, but why couldn't she just say yes? Just once, why couldn't she make it easy on them both and just say yes?

She stood up now, looking around in a distracted way. "I can't just sit around. I'm gonna make some coffee."

"What time is it?"

"Almost six," she told him, heading toward the kitchen.

"Kate."

She turned around, waiting. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Make it strong," he said.

She nodded and left the room.

* * *

As soon as Kate saw the lights go on in the Morris residence, she headed over to speak to them. When she returned, she told Sawyer that it was all settled, and that they would both ride in to the village, called Rockfort, with Alicia and Grace. She'd made up a story about them needing a birth control refill that would explain why they had to stop at the doctor's. Sawyer didn't bother to ask why she hadn't just told the truth. He had a feeling she might not even know, herself. She was so accustomed to lying that she probably didn't always stop to think about whether it was strictly necessary or not.

They left just before it began to get light, with Alicia driving the hummer. Mark clearly had misgivings about not accompanying them, but there were problems with the mining machinery that required his immediate attention, and so he had no choice but to stay behind. Sawyer and Kate barely spoke to each other during the drive, and luckily, the presence of Grace saved them from the tension this would normally have caused. She was a welcome distraction, for Kate in particular, and they played all the road trip games that she could think of. The road itself was really nothing more than a snow-covered track, and they moved tediously and with a great deal of bumping and jolting. At about the halfway point, Sawyer offered to take over the wheel, and although Alicia obviously wasn't quite comfortable with this arrangement, the stress of maneuvering the unwieldy vehicle eventually led her to give in.

Just when Kate was beginning to fear that they would never get there, and that this drive would go on forever, they reached the top of a rise and the village came into view below them, looking like a quaint postcard rather than an actual town where people lived. A cluster of cottages and old-fashioned false-front stores nestled next to a winding river, smoke pouring from most of the chimneys. There was a church with a towering steeple, and a clapboard schoolhouse that was apparently left over from a previous century. Kate leaned forward in her seat, anxious now. When they'd finally parked, she tried to act casual and nonchalant as Alicia pointed out to them where the doctor lived. She offered to come with them to introduce them, but Kate hastily declined, saying that they didn't want to keep her from her errands.

When they were alone, they looked at each other with badly-concealed dread, then began to walk toward the house which had been indicated. Kate knocked on the door, and when a woman answered, Sawyer allowed her to explain who they were and what they needed, without interjecting a word. He felt strangely sick to his stomach. Kate was given a form to fill out, which she did quickly and without hesitation. The woman, who said that she was the doctor's wife, fetched a key and led them to a different door, unlocking it and letting them in. They found themselves in a tiny waiting room that obviously wasn't used very often. The woman, Nancy, left them and went to find her husband, telling them that it would be a few minutes before he could prepare the exam room. Kate asked where the bathroom was, and Sawyer sat down to wait. In the unnerving silence, he tapped his fingers on the cheap plastic arm rest of the chair.

After a few minutes Kate re-entered and sat down in the chair beside him. He looked at her, a question in his eyes.

"No change," she said, not meeting his gaze. "It's not any worse."

"That's good, right?"

"Yeah," she said with a quick nod. "I think so."

They sat without speaking, neither one knowing what to say, or how to begin. "Pretty painting," Kate muttered, almost to herself.

Sawyer raised his eyes to see what she was looking at. On the opposite wall was a reproduction print hanging in a flimsy frame, most likely placed there with the intention to brighten up the dreary room.

"It's a Van Gogh," he said. "That's the son-of-a-bitch that cut off his own ear."

Kate looked intrigued, and grateful for a distraction. "Why'd he do that?"

"Because he was crazy," Sawyer said, settling back into the chair. His voice, though quiet, seemed to echo in the empty waiting room. "He was friends with this other painter, and one day he started thinkin' that the guy didn't like him so much anymore. They got in a fight, and I suppose he figured he needed to do somethin' to get his friend's attention. So he cut off part of his ear, and gave it to a prostitute to keep for him."

"Really?" Kate asked, smiling a little. "A prostitute?"

"That ain't the sad part, though," Sawyer went on. "Couple years later he walked out into a field and shot himself to death." He lowered his gaze a little, his voice weary with irony. "Guess maybe he just got tired of being misunderstood."

Kate closed her eyes briefly, the hidden intent of the words not lost on her. She chose not to comment directly. Giving Sawyer a wistful look, she said, "How'd you get to be so smart, anyway?"

He sniffed in amusement. "Too much free time," he told her dryly.

She laughed, and when they looked at each other now, some kind of barrier mercifully broke down. The humor died away from their expressions, replaced with a raw vulnerability and fear. Sawyer extended a wordless invitation, and Kate leaned over against him, letting him wrap both arms around her in a fluid motion. He kissed the top of her head and then let his lips continue to rest there. She held onto his forearm like a life preserver, staring out into the waiting room with haunted eyes.

After a few seconds he whispered into her hair. "What do you think, Freckles? Is it gonna be okay, or not?"

She waited a few seconds before answering, not wanting to lie. "I don't know." She shook her head a little at the absurdity of the situation, continuing just above a whisper. "This is crazy. A few weeks ago, I was so scared that this might actually be happening. Now... I'm just as scared that it might not be."

"Maybe it's my fault," Sawyer said.

"How?" she asked, her brow wrinkling with confusion.

"You really need to ask?" he said sardonically. "Maybe we just... _overdid _things."

Realizing that he was talking about sex, she smiled a little. "I don't think it works that way. The book said it was safe, remember?" She paused, thoughtful. "If there's anything wrong, then it's my fault. Jumping off that roof... dragging around on a bad ankle, and then trying to climb down that hill when I was already exhausted... I just pushed myself too hard. So _stupid_," she muttered angrily.

"Like you had any choice," Sawyer said, defending her from her own censure.

She took a deep breath, knowing her next words would likely ring hollow. "Maybe it's for the best. If you think about it, this has all happened so fast. It wouldn't be the end of the world if we had a chance to..."

"To what?" Sawyer interrupted her, with a touch of impatience. "_Get to know each other better_?" he asked with scorn.

Kate gave up, agreeing with him. "You're right. When you say it like that, it does sound pretty ridiculous."

They fell silent again, both hoping that they wouldn't have to wait much longer. There was no clock in here, but if there had been, the ticking would have been loud and terrifying. Kate's neck was beginning to stiffen from leaning in this position for so long, but she didn't want to move away from Sawyer. She concentrated on the rhythmic warm puffs of his breath on the top of her head.

Sawyer seemed to be trying to steel himself for some kind of admission. He finally worked up to it, speaking in an unintentionally harsh voice in order to mask his emotion. "No matter what happens, it ain't gonna change anything... with us. Least not for me, anyway." He stopped, awkwardly. "Just wanted you to know that."

Feeling her throat knot up unexpectedly, Kate gritted her teeth together while her vision wavered with tears. She waited until she felt capable of speaking. "Can I ask you something?"

Sawyer was quiet, waiting.

"Do you ever watch me sleep?" she whispered.

He didn't answer for a second, and she began to wonder if she should have ignored her impulse. But his voice when he finally responded didn't sound surprised. He spoke with a quiet sincerity, as if the topic was the most natural one in the world. "Every chance I get."

Now Kate gave up the fight and let a few tears overflow, turning her head against his coat sleeve to absorb them. He brushed her hair out of her way, accepting her emotion without questioning it. They didn't move for a few minutes.

The door opened softly, and the doctor's wife reappeared. "Mrs. Ford? You can go on back now. Everything's ready. It's the door at the end of the hall, past the bathroom."

"Thank you," Kate said as the woman slipped out again, discreetly. She stood up and then looked down at Sawyer, who was giving her a pleased smirk. She rolled her eyes a little, trying not to blush. "It's not like I can use my real name."

He looked toward the hall, hesitant. "So... you want me to come with you, _Mrs. Ford_?"

She only considered for a brief second. "Yes," she said firmly this time, holding out her hand. "Please."

She pulled him to his feet, and he followed her toward the exam room.

* * *

Half an hour later, Kate sat rigid on a metal table, wearing a flimsy paper hospital gown, while Sawyer stood next to her, his hand on the small of her back. They waited tensely for the doctor to come back in. While the boisterous white-haired man had conducted the examination, his sheer exuberance and off-color jokes had been enough to distract them, but now that they were alone again, time seemed to swell and stretch to unfathomable proportions. They could practically hear each other's heartbeats.

Finally, they became aware of an exaggeratedly jaunty whistle as somebody came back down the hall. Kate sat up straighter. The doctor burst in carrying a clipboard and mumbling fragments of a song to himself. Seeming to forget their presence for a moment, he leafed through the pages he carried as if he had all the time in the world. Kate could feel Sawyer reaching his irritation threshold, and she placed her hand on his wrist to calm him, shaking her head silently.

When he'd scanned through the test results on his clipboard, the doctor finally glanced up at them and smiled, squinting through his bifocals. "Well!" he barked joyfully. "I have some good news, and some bad news. The good news is that there's absolutely nothing wrong with your baby. Everything seems to be right as rain, the heartbeat is strong, and I don't see any problems there at all."

Sawyer and Kate barely had time to react to this news before he moved on to his next announcement, looking over his glasses now at Kate with exaggerated somberness. "The bad news, my dear, is that _you _have a kidney infection."

Kate's face registered disbelief. "A kidney infection?" she repeated.

"I'm afraid so," the doctor intoned. "The blood you noticed came from the urinary tract... It has nothing to do with the pregnancy at all. And it also explains your back pain." Taking his stethoscope, he returned to her lower back, tapping the base of it on both sides. He straightened up again with a brisk motion. "You haven't been drinking enough water," he said in a sing-song manner, wagging his index finger at her sternly. "Have you?"

Staring at him like he was crazy, Kate tried not to laugh. "I guess not," she admitted.

"So..." He consulted his clipboard again. "I'll have Nancy get you some antibiotics from the pharmacy closet, and it should be gone within a few days. How does that sound?"

"That sounds great," Kate said. "Thank you, so much."

"My pleasure!" he said with a large grin. "I haven't had a kidney case... in... oh, it must be a year at least!" Still smiling, as if this was an experience they should all enjoy together, he whooshed out of the exam room again, singing to himself, leaving Kate and Sawyer to stare after him in incredulous silence.

"Guy's a damn whack-job," Sawyer finally muttered, turning back to her.

She looked at him, the two of them at the same height while she remained on the table. "A kidney infection," she repeated again, bringing a hand up to cover her face in a mix of shame and relief. "That's it. That's all it was?" She laughed a little, looking angry at herself. "I feel like such an idiot."

"Well, at least you still look cute in that hospital gown," Sawyer said, trying to strike the right tone of amused detachment in his overwhelming gratitude to the universe. "Think maybe we could get one to take home?"

She smiled and met his eyes. Giving up on the jokes, they reached for each other at the same instant, holding onto each other in a tight hug. It was strange to Kate that after all the real traumas they'd suffered together, it was this threatened one, this false alarm, that seemed to have brought them closer than anything else. It seemed impossible that they'd been fighting only last night.

Finally breaking apart, they kissed each other fiercely, and then Kate said in a shaking voice, "Let's get out of here."

* * *

They met up with Alicia down the street, coming out of what looked like some kind of bakery. She smiled at Kate. "You get what you needed?"

"Yeah," she nodded, her face glowing with relief. "Yeah, everything's good."

Alicia seemed about to say something, but then glanced at Sawyer and checked her words. She appeared to be uncomfortable in his presence, as always. He noticed it, and Kate saw how it affected him. With a half-bitter, half-sad smile, he said, "Think I'll leave you girls on your own for a bit, if you don't mind. Got some shoppin' of my own I need to do." He gave Kate a kiss on the cheek, and she looked up at him, regretfully. After everything they'd just been through, she didn't want to be away from him. It wasn't right that she should have to be away from him. And yet it was her own fault.

"I want to go with you!" Grace said, grabbing Sawyer's hand. Over the past few days, she'd developed something of a crush on him, which he so far hadn't done much to encourage.

"It's all right with me," he said, making an offer that Kate knew was a fairly big step for him. She looked at Alicia, praying that she wouldn't say no, that she wouldn't do that to him.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Gracie," Alicia said, her tone tense and final.

"Sorry, kid," Sawyer said. "Mom says no." He looked at Kate, and she felt a sudden surge of protectiveness toward him so strong that it almost made her dizzy. How could anybody see him that way? How could she _let _anybody see him that way? He deserved so much better. "Meet you back in here in an hour," he said, walking away with his hands in his pockets. She watched him go, miserable.

Alicia pointed toward a hill in a park-like area behind one of the houses they stood near. "Grace, look! Why don't you go over there where those kids are sledding, and ask if you can play?"

"I don't know them," she whined, shuffling her feet.

"Well, introduce yourself, silly," her mother urged, giving her a gentle shove. "I'm sure they'll be very nice."

Still not entirely convinced, but lured by the enticements of the happy shouts of laughter that drifted over from the hill, Grace finally plodded off to give it a try.

Alicia moved toward a wrought-iron fence to watch. Kate followed, and they both leaned against the fence, looking over it. "I don't want to push her too much, but she needs to learn how to socialize with other children," Alicia said in a concerned voice. "It can't be good for a kid to only interact with adults all the time. Nancy... that's Dr. Mitchell's wife... she's always offering to let Gracie stay here during the week, to board, so that she could go to school. She could come home on the weekends. I should say yes, but I just can't bring myself to do it. It's selfish, I know. I just want to keep her with me."

Kate watched as the little girl boldly introduced herself to a group of strangers. "I'm sure she's gonna turn out great, no matter what you decide."

Detecting some hint of sadness, Alicia turned toward Kate. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," she said, unable to stop the automatic lie. "I'm fine."

"Because if there's anything you wanted to talk about..." She paused, clearly worried.

Kate took a deep breath. "Actually, you're right. There is something." She tried not to sound overly defensive. "I think maybe... you have the wrong idea about Sawyer. He's not the one I was running from."

Alicia gave her a sympathetic look, but there was a good dose of skepticism mixed in.

"I know what it looks like," Kate continued. "Believe me. But that's my fault, because I let you think something that wasn't true." She plunged ahead, determined to get it all out in the open. Unconsciously, she twisted the ring on her finger, still not quite used to the feel of it. "But I promise you, it wasn't him. He would do _anything _for me. He would never, _ever _hurt me. And the idea that anybody could think that he would... It kills me." Her voice shook with tears, and she spoke through clenched teeth. "I love him so much."

Seeming a bit surprised by this level of emotion, Alicia said softly, "I can see that. But if it wasn't him, then who was it?"

And there was the question that she was dreading the most. "That part is complicated," she said, wiping a tear away with her sleeve and trying to get herself under control. "Over the past few years, I've kind of been in some trouble... with the law." She tried not to laugh at what was likely the understatement of the century. "There are people who have made it their life's mission to hunt me down. But it's over now," she added quickly, giving Alicia a look of reassurance. "They're not looking anymore. They, um... they think I'm dead." Kate's heart beat faster, and she knew what a huge risk she was taking. She hadn't needed to tell that much. But once she got started, it was hard to stop.

It was difficult to judge Alicia's reaction so far. She was processing it all, contemplatively. Different shades of emotion flickered across her face. "The gun?" she asked.

"I took it," Kate admitted. "The night I stayed with you. I thought I'd be going back south on my own, and I was scared. But I was going to leave you money... to pay for it."

Alicia was quiet, watching Grace and the other children. They already played together as if they were best friends. A red-headed boy was helping her pull a sled up to the top of the hill, and he seemed to be flirting with her. It was such an innocent, pleasant scene, and Kate felt terrible for ruining it.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I know how all this must sound. And if you want to leave us here, then we'll be fine. We don't have to go back with you," she said, giving the woman an easy way out of having any more contact with them. "But... for the record, I just want you to know, that you don't have anything to be afraid of. The two of us... me and Sawyer.." She paused, and then said something that she never would have thought it possible for her to say. She didn't know if she'd ever truly believed it, until now. "We're good people. We've both done some terrible things, and... some really _stupid _things. But we have good hearts," she insisted, stubbornly sticking to what she'd only just discovered was true. "And all we want is to start over."

For a long time, Alicia didn't say anything, and Kate began to be afraid that she wasn't going to. When she finally did speak, her words were nothing at all like what Kate had expected to hear. She listened with growing amazement.

"When Mark and I were in college," Alicia began, tentatively, as if she were looking at something from a great distance, "We belonged to this environmental activist group. Sort of like Greenpeace, only much more radical. Violent, even." She smiled a little. "I know it's hard to believe, looking at us now. But we were pretty hard-core back then." She was quiet for a second, then continued. "There was this cosmetics lab in Vancouver that used animals for testing. Not just bunnies, but, you know... dogs and cats, too. Even monkeys, I think. Horrible things went on there... you wouldn't believe it if I told you. And so anyway, the group decided to use this place to make a statement. So we rescued all the animals, got them out of there. That part went just fine." She paused, her face darkening in memory. "Then on the spur of the moment, we decided that we should burn the place to the ground... really make headlines. What we didn't know was that there was a janitor still inside. He worked nights, and we had no idea. We were basically just kids, and we hadn't planned it out very well. So this janitor, well... he died in the fire. He had a wife, and four kids." Shaking herself, Alicia forced herself to keep talking. "Mark and I just barely escaped serving prison time. We had good lawyers." She turned to Kate, almost as if she was surprised at herself. "I haven't told anybody about that in a long, long time."

Kate wasn't sure how to respond. "I know the feeling," she finally said in wonder.

Alicia sighed. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, maybe everyone deserves a second chance."

Turning back to look at the kids sledding, Kate took a few minutes to digest this unexpected turn of events. She felt like another huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, even through her sadness at witnessing someone else's pain. To her shock, she'd been believed. She wasn't being rejected, and neither was Sawyer. She wanted to go and find him, to leap on him, to tackle him to the ground in her exuberance. She suppressed the impulse with a grin, but planned to make good use of it later. For now, she decided to get one more thing off her chest. "Since we're sharing secrets, there's something else I should probably tell you." She looked at the other woman coyly. "I didn't come here today for birth control."

"I know," Alicia said with a smile, not surprised at all.

"Oh," Kate said. She looked down at her stomach, confused. "I didn't realize it was already so..."

"It's not," Alicia interrupted, laughing a little. "Not at all. You're thin as a whippet."

"Then how...?"

"Your backpack," she said, explaining. "When Mark brought you in, and you were unconscious, I thought I'd better try to find some ID, just in case. I didn't find any, but I did see a sonogram picture in the front flap. I just assumed that you probably wouldn't be carrying it around if it wasn't yours."

"I forgot that was in there," Kate said, understanding now.

"When is it due?" Alicia said softly, after a lapse.

Kate tried to hide her pleasure at being asked. "July."

"Three months after mine." Alicia smiled now, growing thoughtful. "Well, maybe if you decide to stick around, we can introduce 'em to each other."

"I'd like that," Kate said, almost shyly. And she was a bit surprised to find that it was the truth.

Glancing at her watch, as if she'd suddenly realized how much time had passed, Alicia sighed. "I'd better go get Grace, if we want to have any daylight left to drive back in. It's getting late. And I still need to do some Christmas shopping for my husband."

Kate looked down the street where Sawyer had disappeared earlier, smiling to herself with a kind of anticipation for the future that she'd hardly ever allowed herself to feel before.

"Me too," she said.


	38. Chapter 38

I had some things I wanted to say specifically for the update on this site, but unfortunately, I started drinking the minute I was finished writing, and now I can't remember what they were. So, I hope you don't mind if I copy and paste the same thing from Lost-Forum... I think it contains the gist of it all, at least.

I can't think of anything I really need to say for this one, other than that I had a blast writing it - more fun than I've had in a long time on a chapter. When I realized it was time for a Sawyer POV chapter, AND the Christmas one, I got a little worried, thinking I was crazy to write any kind of holiday-themed update from Sawyer's perspective. But somehow, that made it even more fun... And I hope you guys like it okay.

So, Happy Chanukah! Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! I hope everyone has such a wonderful holiday season that you forget Lost is on hiatus. And as always, thank you so much for reviewing. It's the reason I haven't lost my mind yet, writing this massively long fic. ;)

* * *

**Chapter 38**

Sawyer held the curtain back and stared out the front window, sullenly. "Here she comes," he muttered with an utter lack of enthusiasm. He turned toward Kate, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, lacing up her shoe. "Does she _really _need to go with us for this?"

Kate glanced up at him. "It's Christmas Eve. Do you want to be the one to tell her she can't? Then go right ahead."

The wry manner in which she said it let him know that she didn't really expect him to take her up on the offer. He sighed and turned back to the window, watching Grace approach along her by now well-worn path through the snow. "If her parents want a damn nanny service, then they oughtta be payin' us, don't you think?"

Finishing up on her shoe, Kate ignored the question. "Did you get the saw from Mark?"

"It's right outside."

"What about your gloves?"

"Can't find 'em," he said evasively. Would that mean they didn't have to go?

"Check your coat pockets."

He shot her an irritated look, which then transformed into a flirtatious smirk as an idea came to him. "Why don't you check 'em yourself?"

She rolled her eyes a little, but stood up and approached him. Plunging her hands into his pockets, she humored him by rooting around while he stared down at her suggestively. She tried not to smile. There was nothing in the front pockets. She reached in between his chest and his coat, checking the warm inner lining. No gloves there either. But her fingers brushed against something flat and papery in texture, and she pulled it out, intrigued. It was a sealed white envelope. "What's this?"

Sawyer tilted his head back, recognition dawning on him. "I'll be damned. Forgot all about that."

She stared at him questioningly.

"It's yours, Freckles. Remember? From what's-his-name... _Paul_. I was supposed to give it to you."

Now Kate seemed to recall him mentioning it. Somehow, they'd gotten so wrapped up in each other over these past few days that the presence of the letter had slipped their minds. She turned it over in her hands, uncertainly. "I forgot about it, too," she said in a quiet voice.

Sawyer glanced back toward the window. Grace was nearing the steps now, almost here. He looked at Kate again. "You want to read it?"

There was a burning curiosity in her expression that she tried hard to suppress. After a few seconds of hesitation, she made herself say casually, "It can wait. Another hour or so won't make any difference."

Sawyer wasn't buying it, though. Patience was not one of the virtues she possessed in abundance, and he knew that better than anybody.

A firm knock came from the other side of the door, down low. Sawyer swung it open reluctantly to reveal Grace standing on the small porch, grinning with excitement and revealing her missing tooth. "Are you ready?" she demanded, hopping a little.

He looked back at Kate, coming to a decision. "What do you say you and me get a head start, kiddo?" he said, speaking to Grace. "Kate here's a slowpoke. She ain't even ready to go yet."

Understanding what he was doing, Kate gave him a secretive smile, thanking him.

Grace, however, was crestfallen. "You're not coming?" she asked.

"I'll catch up with you guys in a minute, okay?" Kate assured her. "I've just got a few things I need to do first."

"Okay, but _hurry_," the little girl insisted. "You have to pick which one you want!"

"I know. I'll be there soon, I promise." She leaned down, speaking in a confidential tone. "Do me a favor and make sure Sawyer behaves himself."

Grace raised her eyebrows with an exaggerated dubious look, as if aware of the impossibility of such a task. Kate couldn't resist laughing.

"_Thanks_," Sawyer said sarcastically as he pushed the kid ahead of him down the steps. He cast a meaningful look back at Kate, trying to convey to her that she could take her time if she wanted. She nodded gratefully, like she understood, and closed the door after them.

Grace took off up the hill, practically running in her anticipation. Sawyer grabbed the rusted hand-saw from where it leaned against the porch and followed after her. He squinted in the glare of the bright sun reflecting off what was left of the snow, feeling a headache coming on already. How exactly had he been talked into doing this? The question was a futile one, lately. It seemed like nearly everyday he found himself engaged in some kind of activity that he never would have imagined himself agreeing to. It was worth it, of course, because of Kate. But he had to admit to himself that he was ready to move on from this place. And as much as she appreciated the company and the hospitality afforded them here, he suspected that Kate was probably ready for the next stage as well. They'd already decided that they were going to take their chances and head on up to the preserve, but they hadn't talked about when they would leave yet, and they needed to do that soon. Maybe later tonight.

"Come _on_!" Grace hollered from a good distance away. He felt like an old man, trying to keep up with her.

Considerably out of breath, he finally reached the place where she stood waiting. "Where's the fire, Little Bit?" he complained. "You always have to move so damn fast?"

She stared up at him, gravely. "_Damn _is a bad word."

He gave an annoyed huff, trying to think of a response. "Yeah, _well_..." he hedged. "You just said it _too_, didn't you?"

Grace crossed her arms in front of her and mulled this over for a few seconds, seemingly stumped. When she didn't reply, Sawyer smirked a little, giving himself points for winning that round.

Settling for a truce, they began to walk down the path side by side. The trail swept away from the small cluster of buildings that made up the mining camp, leading toward the lake and the edge of the mountain. Sawyer glanced over at the lounge as they passed it, ruefully longing for a drink and a good game of pool or poker. Unfortunately, just when the miners had realized their mistake in assuming that he was an abusive husband and had started treating him decently, they'd gone home for the Christmas holiday, and now, with the exception of the Morris family, the entire place was abandoned. He wondered if any liquor had been left behind in the building. He had a key, but he got the feeling that stopping to search now would be a bad move. If this kid thought the word _damn _was dangerous territory, then he could only imagine her reaction to seeing him load up his coat pockets with bottles of bourbon. He forced himself to give up on the idea.

After a few minutes, Grace took off ahead of him again, propelled forward by the sheer force of her exuberance. He watched her red coat streaming out behind her. She'd unzipped it. Should he make her zip it back up? Was that something he was supposed to do? He decided against it. If it was necessary, then Kate would take care of it when she got here. It wasn't really a problem he wanted to be bothered with.

As Grace neared the top of a ridge, though, he was suddenly presented with a problem that he had no choice but to confront. He seemed to see it happening as if in slow motion. The little girl's right foot slipped sideways off a hardened mound of snow, collapsing underneath her to the left. She landed on her right arm, breaking the fall with her elbow, but then remained motionless on the ground, crumpled forward and not stirring.

"_Shit_," Sawyer hissed under his breath, hurrying ahead to where she lay. What if she'd broken something? Was he somehow responsible for this? If she was hurt, what was he supposed to do with her - take her back, or leave her here while he got help? What if she started _crying_? What the hell would he do then? He wished he hadn't been so eager to allow Kate to stay behind with her stupid letter. This is what he got for trying to be a nice guy for once.

By the time he reached Grace, he could see that she was already pulling herself into a sitting position, appearing a little dazed.

"You all right?" he asked, his voice sounding harsher than he'd intended.

She looked at him as if she'd forgotten he was there. "Yeah," she said, nodding.

To make sure, he lifted her up by the armpits and set her on her legs, amazed at how lightweight she was. Everything seemed to be in working order. Nothing broken or sprained.

She kicked at a chunk of ice, accusingly. "I slipped on _that_."

"Well, maybe if you'd slow down a little, you could stay on your feet." He made a concerted effort not to say "_damn _feet."

Already bored with this discussion, and not heeding his words at all, she started running toward the top of the hill again. "The good ones are right over here! Come on!"

He let out his pent-up breath in relief, picking the saw back up from where he'd tossed it. She was tough, for a little girl. Thank God. If their kid turned out to be a girl, he hoped she would be the same way. In fact, he had no doubt that she would be tough. Just like Kate.

The realization that he was having thoughts of this nature suddenly made him nervous, and he started walking again to distract himself.

"See?" Grace said when he reached her. "Over there!" She pointed toward a shallowly dipping slope that bordered one edge of the icy lake. It stretched away in snow-covered blue shadow, dotted intermittently with small evergreens, mostly spruces and firs. He stood gazing out over it, unsure which direction to start in.

Grace looked up at him. "Have you ever done this before?"

"Done _what_?" he asked, beginning to walk.

"Cut down a Christmas tree."

"'Course I have," he told her. "Lots of times." He hadn't, actually. Not once. To be honest, he hadn't really bothered to celebrate Christmas, or any other holiday, since his earliest childhood. Christmas parties, especially office parties, were good places to scout out new potentials for cons, but that was the extent of his participation. He'd certainly never done anything like this before. But why should he have to admit that to a six-year-old? He glanced at her sideways to see if she suspected anything.

"Which one do you want?" he asked her, hoping they could hurry and get this over with so that he'd have time to look through the lounge before the big turkey dinner Mark and Alicia had invited them to tonight. Kate said they had to go.

"It's _your _tree," Grace said, like she was explaining it to someone even younger than herself. "_You _have to pick it out."

"Well, they all look the same to me."

She scanned the area, trying to help him. "That one's pretty."

He looked at the one she indicated. It was about twenty feet taller than what they could possibly hope to fit into the trailer. He scoffed a little, instinctively preparing to make fun of her, but then caught himself just in time. In a more careful voice, he said, "I got a feeling that one might be just a _tad _too big for us. Let's check out those over there." He angled his chin toward a row of smaller trees.

Agreeing at once, she ran toward them. He followed, and they spent another ten minutes or so evaluating the merits of two or three different contenders. Sawyer found himself silently debating whether a shorter, fuller tree would look best, or a taller, slimmer one. He stood at a distance and gave them both a critical gaze, and then tested the limb strength of each. When he realized he was actually starting to give a damn about this, he decided to simply close his eyes and pick one at random, before the entire thing became too ridiculous.

When he opened his eyes again, he was distracted by something in the corner of his field of vision. It was Kate, approaching them from the path.

"She's here!" Grace exclaimed, as if she hadn't seen Kate in weeks. Bounding toward her, she grabbed her hand and led her back to the trees under examination.

As the two of them came nearer, Sawyer noticed, with a sudden sinking feeling, that Kate had been crying. He couldn't have pinpointed exactly how he knew, but he was sure he was right. She'd twisted her hair back into a bun to keep it out of the way, causing her features to stand out prominently. Her eyes weren't red, but the tip of her nose was, and her face had a pale, freshly scrubbed appearance that he'd learned to recognize as a telltale sign of recent tears. As she came up to him, he tried to determine what kind of mood she was in. Had that bastard written something to upset her? Maybe he'd overestimated him. Or had it been one of those mysterious _good _cries that women seemed to appreciate as a kind of catharsis?

She caught his eye and gave him a genuine smile, wrinkling her nose a bit playfully, and then he knew that everything was okay.

"Found your gloves," she said, holding them out to him.

"Thanks." He pulled them on, still regarding her curiously. Her expression reassured him, but she also seemed to be hinting that it wasn't anything they could talk about here, in front of Grace. He was fine with that. Just as long as he would get some answers, eventually.

Kate glanced around now, taking stock. "Did you guys find a good one?"

"We got it narrowed down to two," Sawyer said.

"He can't decide," Grace added in a confidential manner to Kate, as if Sawyer couldn't hear her. He shot the kid an exasperated look.

"Guess it's up to you, Freckles," he went on. "Which one's it gonna be? The fat one, or the tall one?"

She scrutinized the two trees for only a few seconds, and then said without hesitation, "The tall one. It's got personality."

"I told him that was the best one!" Grace chimed in. She echoed Kate as if she'd come up with the phrase herself. "It's got personality!"

Kate smiled down at her, and then seemed to notice something. "Hey. Come here." She kneeled in front of Grace and hooked the bottom flaps of her coat together, then pulled the zipper toward her chin. "Leave this zipped up, okay? It's cold out here."

"Okay," Grace said, without arguing. Sawyer watched this process with something like fascination. For reasons that made no sense to him, he felt strangely _proud _of Kate, as well as relieved that she'd known just what to do, like he'd expected. She was good at this stuff. Much better than he would ever be.

She stood up and looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

He raised the saw up, gripping it in readiness. "Let's kill us a tree," he said with a grin.

They made Grace stand off at a little distance, just to be on the safe side. Sawyer was forced to lay on the ground in order to get a good enough angle to go at the trunk. Kate held onto it at a higher point, steadying it. Though Sawyer tried to make her move out of the way, she refused. "I don't want it to fall on you," she told him, sounding worried. He decided the argument wasn't worth pursuing. Plus, he didn't want the tree to fall on him, either. He started sawing, surprised by how much muscle it took. Progress was slow. After a few minutes, his arms were already starting to ache, and he wasn't even halfway through the trunk yet. He could feel the snow seeping into his jeans, making his legs numb.

"_Son-of-a-bitch_," he muttered through clenched teeth. "This'd be a hell of a lot easier if the saw didn't belong in a museum! I doubt the thing's been sharpened since the Depression."

"You want me to try it?" Kate offered.

He glared up at her in response, then went back to sawing with renewed vigor. Finally, just when he was about to give up and go back to the camp to hunt around for a chainsaw, he felt the trunk begin to give. Kate pushed hard against the middle of it, and with a splintering crack and a whoosh of air, the tree toppled over onto its side.

Trying to catch his breath, Sawyer sat up and peeled his gloves off, which were now coated with sap. The sticky mess had even soaked through onto his skin. Why the hell did people put themselves through all this, just for a stupid tree? It was a mystery to him.

Grace came back over to them now, hopping again. Sawyer was beginning to wonder if they fed the kid pure sugar for breakfast. She patted the tree like it was a dog. "Ooh..." she breathed in awe. "It's giant!"

"It does look a lot bigger on the ground," Kate said, circling the evergreen. She glanced at Sawyer. "Do you think it's _too _big?"

"We'll make it work," he said dryly. If they thought he was cutting down another one, they were out of their minds. Kate seemed to want to say something else, but the annoyed look on his face stopped her.

"Can I help you decorate it?" Grace asked. "Mom says you can have all our extra ornaments and lights."

"Of course you can." Kate smiled at her. She stooped and started to pick up a few of the pine cones that had fallen off the tree, trying not to laugh as Grace immediately began to imitate her. "So, are you excited about Santa Claus coming tonight?"

It seemed a simple enough question to ask a child. But Grace's response was puzzling. Without making eye contact, she gave an exaggerated shrug, bringing one shoulder nearly up to her ear as she reached for another pine cone. "I guess so."

Kate glanced at Sawyer, confused, as if wondering whether she'd said something wrong. He didn't have any idea, either.

"Really?" she said to Grace. "You don't _sound _too excited."

The little girl sighed dramatically.

"What's a' matter?" Sawyer teased her. "You ain't on the naughty list, are ya?"

"_No_," she said, somewhat offended. "But my friend Cole in Toronto said..." She paused. "He said Santa's not even real. It's just my mom and dad."

"Oh," Kate said softly, understanding. The explanation seemed to make her a little sad. She apparently didn't know what else to say.

Not knowing what to say, however, was a problem Sawyer rarely experienced. "Well, sounds to me like your friend Cole's a jackass."

"Sawyer!" Kate looked at him, shocked.

Grace seemed surprised as well, but also amused. She bit her lip to keep from giggling, not even bothering to let him know that _ass _was a bad word.

He started again, backpedaling just a bit in order to get Kate to quit eying him like he was Satan. "All I'm sayin' is, this other kid is probably..." Now he interrupted himself, narrowing his eyes and looking at Grace closely, as if he'd just thought of something. "All right, _look_. Can you keep a secret, gingersnap?"

"Yes," she said immediately.

"Don't just say yes without thinkin' about it," he told her, pretending to be insulted. "You gotta really mean it. This is serious, now."

Grace moved closer to him, intrigued. "I can keep a secret. I promise."

Kate folded her arms across her chest, curious but not interrupting the conversation.

Settling back against the tree like it was a piece of furniture, Sawyer said, "Okay, then. Listen up." He began to speak with an air of reluctance, looking around covertly, like he knew he shouldn't be talking about this. "Awhile back, me and Freckles here..." He gestured toward Kate. "We got a call from this old lady... who lived _waaay _up north here, not too far from you. And this old gal had a problem. See, she had this idea that her husband mighta gone off and got himself a girlfriend, because he was sneakin' out nights all the time, when he shoulda been home asleep. And when she'd ask him about it, he'd get all dodgy and make up excuses. So what she wanted _us _to do was to follow him around a little, see what he was up to. And she said she'd pay us for it. You understand what I'm talkin' about?"

"Like spies?" Grace asked.

"Like spies," Sawyer agreed, glad to see she was following along. Kate listened quietly, bemused. "So, anyway," he continued. "We get up here, and this lady shows us a picture of her husband, so we'll know what he looks like. He was a big old fat guy, white beard, eyebrows... the works. Sorta like a trucker. We knew he'd be easy to keep an eye on. It ain't like there were many people around, anyway. So the first night out on the job, we trailed around after him, waitin' for him to meet up with some trampy little waitress, or something like that. He finally goes into this big warehouse-type building, and we figure, _jackpot_. So we move in for the money shot, snuck right up and peeked in the windows... and what do you think we saw inside there?"

Grace seemed a bit uncertain, but still fascinated. "The trampy waitress?" she guessed. Kate winced a little, clearly wondering what on earth Sawyer was up to.

"No," he said, impatiently. "There _wasn't _no waitress, anywhere. What we saw in there, was _elves_. The place was a damn toy factory. And this guy we're spying on, he was like the foreman, the head honcho. They all took orders from him."

With her eyes wide and rapt with attention, Grace stood hanging on every word, waiting to see what came next.

"We kept waitin' around for something good to happen, to see if the guy would get himself into trouble, but all he did was make toys all night. Every once in awhile he'd go into this office, and read letters. But mostly it was just makin' toys. So the next day, we went back to his wife and told her what was up. Well, she was relieved, to say the least. But she was also a little miffed that the guy hadn't just told her the truth. And _then_... the old broad let us in on the big secret, about who her husband was. You see where I'm goin' with this?"

Grace nodded, slowly. "She told you he was Santa."

"_Bingo_. And the reason he hadn't been tellin' her where he was at night, was because what he was doing is technically illegal. See, the elves got this union or somethin', and they ain't supposed to be working that many hours."

"The miners have one of those," Grace said in a solemn tone.

Sawyer smiled at Kate with arched eyebrows, echoing in a funny voice, as if he'd just learned something new, "The _miners _have one of those." Kate stared back at him, her expression now bordering on wonder. She seemed to be witnessing a miraculous occurrence that she'd never expected to see.

"But how do you know she wasn't lying?" Grace asked now, a hidden reservoir of skepticism being tapped within her. "Maybe she just wanted you to _think _he was Santa."

"Well, it just so happens that we asked ourselves the same question, Puddin'. And the next night, we decided to follow him again, just for the hell of it. Only _that _night, they weren't just making toys. They were_ test-driving the reindeer_." He waited for his words to have their intended effect, and then went on. "So we stood back a ways, out of sight, and watched that sleigh take off and make a few practice runs over the area, and then come back down again. Thing was just a little rough on the landing, but otherwise, everything seemed to be shipshape. That's how we knew she'd been tellin' us the truth. The guy was the real deal, no doubt about it."

"You really saw the sleigh fly?" Grace glanced up at Kate, as if for corroboration.

Forcing herself to look away from Sawyer, Kate nodded at the little girl with perfect conviction. "Yeah," she said, swallowing hard against a knot in her throat. "We really saw it. It was pretty impressive." She paused, then added, "You might even get to see it tonight, if you're lucky."

"See there?" Sawyer asked her, as if his point had been made. "Now, it's gonna be gettin' dark in just a few hours, and I reckon your house is probably one of the first stops on the route, way up here. You sure you want to risk it all, just because some little wiseguy brat over in _Toronto _likes to hear himself talk?"

"No." She shook her head thoughtfully, chewing on her pinky finger. "Cole's not really that smart, anyway."

"I didn't think so," Sawyer said, satisfied with the answer.

"Which way is north?"

Kate showed her, pointing out over the far sweep of the lake, where the chain of water disappeared into the mountains. "It's that way."

Grace took a few steps in the direction indicated, tilting her neck back and scanning the sky. Her eyes now shone with genuine, unsuppressed excitement. Kate and Sawyer watched her for a second, and then their gazes met conspiratorially over the top of her head, pleased with each other and with their success. It was the best lie Kate had ever told. It was the best con Sawyer had ever pulled off. For the first time in their lives, they felt truly good about what they'd done.

Finally, Sawyer glanced away, almost shyly, and stood up, brushing off the snow that still clung to his pants. "Well," he announced. "Guess we better get the show on the road, and haul this sucker on home."

Tearing herself away from her examination of the sky, Grace took off ahead of them. Sawyer lifted the tree by the trunk, preparing to pull it. Kate grabbed onto it as well, to help out. It wasn't like he couldn't have managed it himself, since it wasn't even that heavy, but he didn't try to make her let go.

Grace stayed far ahead, leading the way. The tree as they dragged it over the hard-packed snow made a swishing sound. They maneuvered it carefully down a slope, trying not to lose any of the limbs or needles in the process. Sawyer noticed that Kate kept throwing surreptitious, meaningful glances his way. He tried to ignore it at first, but the silence stretched out, and she kept doing it. He began to grow uncomfortable. Maybe he'd gone a little overboard with the whole thing.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "Would you stop givin' me that look?" he blurted out.

Kate laughed a little, as if she'd been waiting for him to say this. "I'm not giving you any _look_," she insisted, which was clearly a lie. She didn't even attempt to make it believable.

"What the hell was I supposed to do?" he asked, trying to keep his voice at a level that could be heard over the sound of the swooshing tree, but low enough so that Grace wouldn't overhear. "Just let her think he wasn't real? Tell her the damn kid was right? I'm sure her parents would be tickled to death by _that_."

Kate only smiled a little, not replying.

He continued. "She's only, what... _six_? Ain't that a little young to be so cynical? A kid oughtta be at least, I don't know, eight or nine before they start thinkin' the world's a big conspiracy."

She still didn't say anything, and he grew even more flustered. "Forget it," he muttered, feeling like he was being laughed at. They continued to drag the tree in silence.

"I love you."

Sawyer slowed, then came to a complete stop, still hanging onto the trunk. He stared at Kate in surprise, convinced he must have heard her wrong. A complete quiet engulfed them once the noise of the moving tree had ceased, and the wind licked softly around their faces, smelling like pine needles and the sharp, icy tang of snow.

Now their positions were reversed, and Kate was the one growing embarrassed under his shocked, unyielding gaze. She looked out over the mining camp, blushing a little, and then back at him, waiting. Sawyer was frozen. He had no memory of her ever voicing those words before, and he couldn't think of what to do or say.

Far up ahead, Grace had noticed that they'd stopped moving. She began to walk back toward them, like a track coach returning for stragglers. Feeling like he was running out of time, Sawyer finally broke out of his inertia. He let go of the trunk. Reaching for Kate over the top of the tree that lay on the ground between them, her gripped her head in his hands and kissed her with fierce, bruising passion. She breathed in deeply through her nose, returning the kiss and pressing closer to him, lifting her arms. Her hands felt warm on his face, stroking his cheeks as gently as silk. He knew he was probably getting sap in her hair from his sticky fingers, but he didn't give a damn. They could shower later. Kate kept her head tilted back, eyes closed, and he continued to kiss her as if he wanted to swallow her whole. He lost track of how much time had passed. Both of them seemed to have forgotten where they were.

"Can't you do that indoors?"

Grace's voice only reached the two of them slowly, as if from a great distance. Their lips broke apart with reluctance, but their eyes remained locked on each other for a few seconds more. That particular current wasn't as easy to turn off.

Eventually, Sawyer looked down at the little girl, making an effort to register her presence and to hear the words that she'd spoken. "I suppose that's your way of tellin' us to get a room?" he asked her.

She narrowed her eyes in confusion. "I don't know what that means, but it's cold out here!" She put her hands on her hips, in an authoritative manner. "Will you please pick up the tree now?"

Sawyer looked at Kate, who was just now coming out of her daze. She raised her eyebrows at him, her expression soft and playful. "I'd do what she says, if I were you."

With an exaggerated sigh, he grabbed the trunk again and lifted it. "Aye aye, Captain," he said to Grace. He felt a powerful surge of something like adrenaline, and his mood was suddenly better than it had been in days. He thought he was beginning to understand why people might put themselves through all this.

Grace turned to start moving, casting a mistrustful glance back at them as she bounded ahead. "Try to keep up. And _don't _stop to kiss again."

"Hey, are we gonna get overtime for this?" Sawyer called after her.

"Maybe!" she yelled back, humoring him, which was a technique she was just beginning to master.

Kate laughed, and then reached down to grab a section of the trunk, placing her hand right beside Sawyer's. They looked at each other again, but didn't speak. Acting at the same time, they started forward, dragging the Christmas tree between them.

* * *

Later that evening, when it had already been dark for a few hours, they presented themselves at the Morris' front door. Kate carried a casserole dish covered in aluminum foil, which Sawyer thought looked hilarious for some reason. He felt like they were going to a Tupperware party straight out of a fifties sitcom. It was too bad her damn dress had been destroyed. It would have fit the occasion perfectly.

They knocked and waited for a response. Kate seemed nervous. "Try to be polite, okay?"

He looked over at her in a teasing manner. "What... you afraid I'm gonna embarrass you in front of the Cleavers?"

Perhaps luckily for both of them, she didn't have a chance to reply before Alicia opened the door and ushered them in, with generic exclamations of welcome. The house trailer was excruciatingly warm, and the smell of food cooking was almost strong enough to knock him down, but Sawyer vowed to himself that he would try to be on his best behavior, for Kate's sake. This kind of thing seemed to mean a lot to her. He didn't exactly understand why, but he knew that it was a part of who she was, and that it would probably never change.

To demonstrate his willingness to play along, he gallantly helped her take her coat off, and then went to hang it in the hall. She stared after him, surprised, and he smiled to himself.

The evening ran on smoothly, with few hitches. Though Mark and Alicia still didn't know exactly how to react to Sawyer - they seemed to regard his Southern accent and mannerisms as something of a curiosity, like a one-man vaudeville act - they no longer retained any coldness or hostility towards him. Realizing that their daughter had developed a strange fascination for the man, they left the two of them alone together at every available opportunity, probably glad for a breather from her frantic energy level. Hadn't these people ever heard of Ritalin, Sawyer wondered? Though for all his complaining about Grace, he felt more comfortable chatting with her than he did with her parents. He tried to teach her how to play poker, but she couldn't quite master the concept of _bluffing_. When she had a good hand she giggled manically and ducked her head behind the cards, wiggling around like she had ants in her pants. He wished they were playing for money instead of goldfish crackers. He would have won a fortune.

Kate came out of the kitchen every once in awhile, where she was helping prepare the meal. She was wearing a close-fitting dark green sweater that he'd never seen before, probably borrowed from Alicia. It highlighted the color of her eyes. It highlighted other parts of her anatomy, as well, but he tried hard not to stare at these while they were in company. He tried very hard. He managed to hold out for nearly forty-five minutes, but there was only so much that could be expected of him, and eventually his impulses won out. Grabbing her as she headed toward the bathroom, he dragged her into a dark corner so they could make out under the mistletoe. She pointed out to him that there _wasn't _actually any mistletoe, but he didn't see why they should let a little detail like that stop them. When he'd worked his hands underneath her shirt, she began to see his point.

She was still a bit flushed when they sat down at the table to eat, and seemed annoyed that she'd allowed herself to become discomposed, like a hormonal teenager. Alicia went to turn the heat down, remarking sympathetically that she must have overdone things in the kitchen. Kate shot Sawyer a warning look, daring him to say anything. He only smiled and stared at his plate.

The meal itself was delicious, much better than the half-assed Thanksgiving they'd managed to put together in the RV. Still, though, he couldn't help feeling a strange longing for that earlier celebration. Everything about these people was _too _good - too domestic, too bright and cozy, too warm. He didn't really belong here, and he could feel how out-of-place he was. He suddenly missed Meg, more than he'd ever imagined he would. She wouldn't have given a damn about embarrassing Kate. She would have said all the things he'd wanted to say, but hadn't. Would he ever know anybody like that again?

As they ate, they discussed the logistics of how the two of them could get to the preserve. He'd assumed this was a conversation they would have privately, but apparently Kate had some kind of agenda that she needed moral support for. He soon found out what this was. She wanted to _walk _there. And rightly assuming that they wouldn't be able to fight in front of other people, she'd chosen to unveil her plans here, at the table.

Kate pointed out that they'd come this far on foot, and that it was only fitting they make the last leg of the journey that way as well. They would be prepared this time, with supplies, a tent, and a two-way radio in case of emergency. Alicia stuck up for her, saying that it sounded _like so much fun_. Mark, at least, was on Sawyer's side, and thought the idea was crazy. They should wait until the pass was clear enough to drive through, after the thaw. Or at the very least, they could contact Clifford and he would fly down for them. Since they didn't actually _know _Clifford, though, this last option seemed out of the question. Grace was torn between wanting to be on Kate's side in everything, and not wanting them to leave, ever. So she remained quiet, eating black olives off the tips of her fingers and running to the window every few minutes to check the sky for signs of Santa.

Eventually, as he'd known she would from the very beginning, Kate won out, and it was decided that they would leave just as soon as the weather permitted, hopefully before the New Year. Mark and Alicia said how sorry they would be to see them go, but at least they would be close enough to keep in touch, and visit every once in awhile. Assuming, of course, that they were allowed to stay on the preserve and make some kind of home there. Alicia was convinced that Clifford would love the idea. He lived underground, in a sort of bunker where he did scientific research when he wasn't monitoring the animals, but there was a cabin, built by an overly optimistic homesteader back in the thirties, that would be just perfect if it was fixed up a little. Sawyer groaned inwardly, knowing that this meant the thing was likely falling apart. He could see the wheels in Kate's mind spinning, probably already thinking about wallpaper samples and debating between carpet and hardwood. Was this what people meant by coming full circle? He struggled for air, feeling a little suffocated.

After dessert, they stayed for awhile, making small talk. Grace climbed onto the couch, and to everyone's surprise, fell asleep. The excitement of the day had caught up with her. When Alicia remarked that they should probably get her to bed, Kate took this as their cue to go, and Sawyer was relieved to hear the conversation transition into its final phase. Everybody rose. Alicia hugged Kate. Then Mark hugged her too. Sawyer kept a close eye on Mark's hands to make sure he wasn't trying to cop a feel. He liked the guy okay, and thought he could trust him, but it never hurt to be vigilant. The two of them put their coats on and headed for the door. All the commotion caused Grace to wake up just enough to want to say goodnight, and her father picked her up and brought her toward them. "Don't forget what we talked about, sugarplum," Sawyer told her with mock seriousness.

"I won't," she promised, and then screwed up one side of her face in a disturbing contortion that reminded him of a stroke victim.

"What the hell was that?" he asked Kate when they were outside on the front porch, the door closed behind them.

"I think she was trying to wink at you," she told him with a grin.

"Ah," he said, understanding now. "Guess I'll have to give her some pointers."

They walked back to their borrowed mobile home without speaking. The night was silent and crystal clear, the stars out in full force. Their breath puffed white in front of them, and what was left of the snow was frozen solid under their feet. Remembering how Grace had slipped earlier, Sawyer took Kate's arm to help her along, just in case. She gave him a funny look, but didn't fight it.

When they'd reached their own door, Kate glanced up quickly at the sky, as if she almost expected to see something there herself, and then smiled at Sawyer and went inside. They threw their coats on the bed. Kate sank down onto the floor, leaning back against a chair instead of sitting in it, and kicked her shoes off. Sawyer imitated her, lowering himself to the floor across from her and reclining against the mattress.

They still hadn't said anything. Sawyer waited patiently, used to this by now. With Kate, there was always an adjustment period after they'd been around other people, in any kind of social situation. She had to settle back into being herself, leaving behind that other version who was her, but yet not entirely her - that talkative, friendly, quasi-domestic woman who seemed at home in somebody else's living room, or kitchen. It was the woman she might have naturally grown into, if her life had been different. But as things were, it wasn't _quite _natural, as much as she might have wanted it to be. It took an effort for her to be that person, and it exhausted her. So now, he waited while she retreated into her shell for a bit, thoughtful and distracted, becoming Kate again - her normal, private, and somewhat moody self.

Tonight, he thought he could sense something extra weighing on her mind. He recalled the way she'd looked when she'd joined him and Grace out near the lake, and he was willing to bet that this new mood was also related to whatever she'd read. They hadn't really had a chance to talk to each other alone until now. He hadn't felt up to approaching her when she was hurrying around trying to get ready for the dinner, checking the oven and doing her best to wash the sap out of her hair.

"Tree looks nice," he finally ventured by way of an opening.

She looked over at it, crammed into the corner, weighed down with handmade ornaments and the large, old-fashioned bulbs that were probably a fire hazard. He'd had to saw off another two feet from the bottom of the trunk before they could bring the damn thing in, but just as he'd vowed, they'd made it work.

"It does, doesn't it?" she said. "Grace did a good job decorating. I put my foot down on the twinkle lights, though. They drive me crazy."

"Just one more thing we agree on," he told her.

She relapsed into silence again, still with that faraway, slightly troubled expression on her face, and he suppressed a sigh of frustration. Obviously she was going to make him work for it tonight.

After waiting a little longer, he decided to take the plunge. "So... you want to talk about it, or not?"

She met his eyes, knowing exactly what he was referring to. "About the letter?"

"Well, actually, I was thinkin' of that new thing you did in bed last night," he said, relieved enough to tease her, now that she'd opened up. "But we can talk about whatever you want."

She rolled her eyes a little, trying not to smile. He watched her, lovingly.

"So, what did Davy Crockett have to say for himself?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "Don't suppose he sent money, did he? Maybe a little wedding present?"

Kate took a deep breath, running over the contents of the letter again in her mind. "Mostly he just... apologized. For the way everything happened. I think he feels responsible for the accident."

"Well, good," Sawyer said, with just a hint of bitterness. "He _was _responsible for it."

"And he said that he hoped we could keep in touch."

He waited, convinced there had to be more than this. What part of any of that would have made her cry?

"That's it?"

She didn't say anything for a minute. He started to think that she'd drifted off again, and in that case, the conversation was more than likely over. But with her next words, uttered hastily as if she wanted to get them over with, everything fell into place for him.

"Did you know that he met my mother once?"

Sawyer stretched his legs out, searching his memory. "I think he might've mentioned somethin' about it. Can't recall the details, though." He suddenly wondered if it was a good idea to go down this road, after all. Maybe he shouldn't have pressured her to talk.

"He thought I would want to know, how it happened," Kate explained. "It was about two years ago, I think. He was working with the U.S. Marshals. It must have been around the time she first started getting sick." She added as an aside, sadly, "Maybe she didn't even know she was sick yet. Anyway, they... they needed her help. They wanted her to do this detailed... this _incredibly _detailed... psychological profile of me." Kate made a little sound of contempt. "I guess they assumed she knew me better than anyone else. And it was supposed to help them. Help them to know where to look, to be able to figure out where I might run, where I might try to hide." She broke off now, as if unsure how to go on. Sawyer knew it still wasn't easy for her to think about any of this.

She stared into space, apparently trying to make sense of something that she couldn't quite understand. When she looked up at Sawyer and continued, it was in a tone of wonder, almost of amazement. "She wouldn't do it. She refused to do anything at all for them."

He thought about this, not clear on why it should be so shocking to her. "Guess that's what moms are for," he offered.

"You don't understand," she said, shaking her head. "_She _was the one who turned me in, to begin with. And if she'd had a change of heart, then why was she so afraid when I went to see her at the hospital later? She was _terrified_, Sawyer. She acted like I came there to kill her." Kate said all this argumentatively, but not as if she really wanted to pick a fight. On the contrary, she seemed to want to be proved wrong. Picking up on this subtle yearning, Sawyer did his best to satisfy it.

"And she was probably in one of the last stages by then, right?" he asked her, already knowing the answer. "Hell, they pump those terminal patients full of so many drugs, they don't even know their own _names _anymore. When my uncle was that far gone, he started hallucinating, thinkin' that Meg was trying to poison him." He tilted his head, adding wryly, "Course, knowing Meg, he might not have been too far off base. But the point is, he didn't have any idea what the hell was really happening. Once people hit that stage... they get the past and the present mixed up, like it all bleeds together, somehow."

He was aware that this wasn't the world's best reassurance, but he could see that it made a difference to her. She gave him a grateful look, and some of her uncertainty seemed to evaporate. Her original confidence in the letter returned. "It's silly, but even knowing that she _might _have been on my side... that there's even a possibility that she was..." Kate trailed off, fighting tears. When she'd got herself under control, she said simply, "I'm glad he told me about it."

"So am I." He meant this with utter sincerity. He only wished that he could have been the one to tell her instead, but that was probably selfish.

"I really miss her sometimes," Kate went on, but in a lighter, more wistful tone of voice. "Every once in awhile, Alicia says something... and it sounds just like her. She loved Christmas, too. She made the best peanut brittle in the world... it didn't even stick to your teeth." She smiled to herself in memory. "Even though we never had any money, and she always had to work extra hours around the holidays, she still went crazy with the decorations, and the candy and stuff. It used to make me so mad when I was a kid. I didn't think we had anything to celebrate about." She paused, becoming contemplative. "Now... I guess I understand why she did it. Why she _had _to." Looking up at Sawyer, she added as an afterthought, "I wish I had that recipe, though."

God, he loved her so much. Would listening to her talk about her past always cause this peculiar, stabbing ache in his chest? He was scared that it would, and more scared that it might not. All he said in response, however, was, "I could go for some peanut brittle right about now."

"I know you probably think I'm crazy," she said with just a hint of defensiveness. "I should hate her. Everything that happened... it was just as much her fault as..." She stopped abruptly, not uttering the last word. "I could blame her for everything. But I can't hate her. I don't know why that is." She appeared to be truly confused. When her eyes locked on Sawyer's this time, she asked him, just above a whisper, "Do you hate your mom? For what she did?"

He wished the conversation hadn't taken this turn, though he should have seen it coming. The least he could do was give her an honest answer, though. So he thought about it for a second, re-examining the few things he could recall of his mother. The way she pinned towels to his back when he wanted to pretend he had a cape. Or the way she made such a delighted fuss when he brought her a ragged clump of wildflowers in the spring, like they were expensive long-stemmed roses. He couldn't remember if she'd ever made Christmas candy, though he thought she probably had. "Nope," he said dryly. He looked back at Kate, his face darkening. "Just him."

"Yeah." She nodded, closing her eyes for a second, as if unable to bear the full force of their haunted, shared connection. "Me too."

For awhile, they didn't say anything else, both somewhat emotionally exhausted by the discussion. In the silence, the only noise was the mini-fridge humming in the kitchen.

"Well, Freckles," Sawyer finally said with irony. "As _festive _as this little trip down memory lane has been, what do you say we rip those bad boys open?" He gestured toward the two wrapped gifts underneath the tree, looking somewhat meager and stranded there all by themselves.

She glanced at them, and then narrowed her eyes with mock-concern. "I think we're supposed to wait till in the morning."

"And how often do we play by the rules?"

"Good point," she agreed, giving in. She leaned forward, reaching under the tree and removing the package that was neatly wrapped and didn't have about three hundred pieces of Scotch tape on it, like the other one did. She passed it to him. "You go first."

The box he took from her was a little longer than a shoebox, but heavy. He lifted it, turning it from side to side, and then said with an air of regret, "This don't feel like handcuffs."

She gave him an amused look, with just the slightest hint of a blush. "You're never gonna give up on that, are you?"

He only smiled in return, flashing his dimples and refusing to answer. Because the answer, of course, was no. No, he was not.

He pulled the paper off, revealing a full, untouched bottle of whiskey in its own display case, with two complementary shot glasses. He'd never seen anything so beautiful. He was also glad that it wasn't a wedding band, which she'd threatened. Though he imagined that if she could have found one, it probably would have been. "_Niiice_," he drawled. "My favorite brand and everything."

"I remembered," she said, pleased with herself.

He pulled the bottle out of the box, wondering if it would be somehow inappropriate to start drinking now. "You promise you're not gonna pour it down the drain this time?"

"If you promise you're not gonna throw it at me," she answered pointedly.

_Damn it_. He'd walked right into that one. "How many times do I have to tell ya, I didn't throw it _at you_," he muttered irritably, feeling like he'd said this a hundred times. Kate bit the inside of her cheek to hold back laughter, triumphant. To change the subject, he grabbed the other present and handed it to her. "Here. Your turn."

She held the long, flat, rectangular box, eying it curiously. Then, with little patience for preliminaries, she tore into it. Sawyer admired the way she shredded the wrapping with destructive glee, unlike most girls who tried to tear along the seams to save the paper. He loved that Kate didn't give a damn about the paper.

He watched a knowing grin spread across her face as she stared down at the Monopoly game in her lap, and he suddenly grew self-conscious. It was a stupid gift. What the hell had he been thinking?

"I didn't realize you were so nostalgic," she said, looking up at him.

"I'm _not_," he insisted, embarrassed. "Damn town only had about three shops. It was either that or one of those singing fish that you mount on the wall. Figured you'd prefer this. Though if you really got a hankerin' for the fish..." He made a move as if he would take the game from her.

"No!" she exclaimed, holding it out of reach. "It's perfect. _Really_," she told him, emphasizing the word. Running her fingers over the letters on the front of the box, she seemed to be remembering something. "It was fun, wasn't it?" She glanced at him. "Those first few weeks."

"Some of it," he conceded. "Not all of it."

"No..." she agreed, reflectively. "Not all of it." After a few seconds she asked him, "You want to play?"

This was what he'd been afraid of. "Thought we'd save it for a rainy day," he said, trying to be diplomatic. "We're gonna have a lot of time to kill this winter, Freckles."

"Tell me about it," she said with a sigh, laying the game aside. "You ever worry that we'll end up killing _each other_ instead?"

"It mighta crossed my mind," he said vaguely. Meaning, in other words, all the time.

Kate gave him a sympathetic look. "If we get too restless, we can always take a trip. There's no rule that says we have to stay there all the time."

"Where would we go?"

"Anywhere," she said, sounding excited. "Anywhere we want. We can _do _that now. Even later, I mean, after..." She trailed off, and he wondered if either one of them would _ever _get used to throwing the baby casually into the conversation. It seemed unlikely.

"We can live someplace new every year," Kate went on, picturing it to herself. "Every few months, if we wanted to." There was a restlessness shining out from her eyes that made him just a little nervous. Which was crazy, because only a few hours ago it was her nesting plans that had been making him nervous. He couldn't have it both ways, could he? And neither could she. It seemed like a conflicting set of urges that they would never be able to synchronize.

"Thought you wanted to settle down and stop running," he remarked, only half teasing.

"It's only running if someone is chasing you."

"True," he said, willing to grant her that. "Only, the thing is... most kids don't like movin' around like that. They like to stay in one place, where things are familiar." He could elaborate on that, if required, based on his own miserable experiences being moved from foster home to foster home during his childhood, but he'd prefer not to.

Besides, he could see right away that it wasn't necessary. Kate grasped the full meaning of exactly what he was saying, and her expression suddenly registered guilt, as well as what looked to be disappointment in herself.

Sawyer felt the need to backtrack just a little. He hastily added, "I'm not sayin' we could _never _move..." .

"No..." she interrupted him. "No, you're right. Of course we can't move a kid around from place to place like that. I don't know what I was thinking." But it was pretty obvious to him what she was thinking. She was thinking that she wasn't going to be any good at this, that she would screw everything up. That she would be a bad mother. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't true, and that he _knew _she would be good at it. He thought about her zipping Grace's coat up this afternoon, and how naturally it seemed to come to her. But how did you say something like that out loud without it sounding ridiculous?

"Here's an idea," he said, deciding to branch off on a different track, instead. "I know you don't want to sell the place, but I was thinkin' maybe we ought to rent out the house in Tennessee. Been meanin' to all these years, but I never seem to get around to it. That way it'll bring in some cash instead of just sitting there. And if we ever want it back to live in for a spell, to use it for vacations or whatever, we just kick the tenants out."

She tried to warm up to the idea, appreciative of his efforts to distract her. "That could work," she said, nodding. "It's sad to think of it empty all the time."

"And if we do that," he added, "Then we'll have to go down there soon and clear the place out... put all the family stuff in storage." He smiled at her, like he was offering a treat. "Give you a chance to snoop around a little more."

She smiled back, biting her lip. He could tell the notion appealed to her. "You know me too well," she said.

"Of course, we'd have to wait till spring, and by then you'll be..." he gestured with his arm, but stopped himself before he said the word _huge_. That probably wasn't the best way to phrase it.

"I'll be _fine_," she said, in a way that allowed for no argument. "Let's plan on April."

"April it is," he said, feeling like they should shake on it. Substituting for this impulse, he nudged her leg with his foot, flirtatiously. She saw it as the invitation it was, and moved toward him. He made a space for her to sit between his legs, and she leaned back against him, relaxing and breathing him in. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing the top of her shoulder and then nuzzling into her neck. She closed her eyes in contentment. Then they both looked at the Christmas tree.

"You realize that... this is the only one we get?" Kate said softly. Before he could ask what she meant, she clarified. "The only Christmas, where it's just us." After pausing, she added in a whisper, "It won't be just us next year."

Sawyer took a deep breath, letting it out before he spoke. That was true, of course. And it hadn't even occurred to him. "Think I'll have that drink now," he muttered.

Kate smiled a little, understanding the urge. "Drink one for me."

He reached over and grabbed the bottle, only too happy to comply with that request. The burn in his throat was both bracing and soothing at the same time. He replaced the cap and set it aside. When he rested his hands on Kate's stomach, she placed her own on top of his, threading their fingers together. They continued to stare at the tree, trying to peek through its branches into the hidden and mysterious future, their faces identical canvases portraying muted tones of wonder, dread, eagerness, and raw terror.


	39. Chapter 39

I'm sorry this chapter is so long in arriving. It's the second-to-the-last one for this fic, which is hard for me to believe. I think it might be one of the longest as well, and it's certainly jam-packed, so I hope there's something in it for everyone to enjoy, whether you prefer angst, adventure, or fluff.

**spinx**: The answer to your questions are 1.)Yep, the fic is over after Chapter 40, though I'm vaguely planning some kind of third installment which would cover a much greater time period (each chapter would pick up a few months after the last one left off, rather than being so densely plotted like these two have). I probably wouldn't start writing it till spring or summer, though. 2.) Sawyer's birthday, in this fic, is in July, and 3.) My hair is the same color as Kate's, though I think a bit longer than hers right now. Lol. Why in the world do you ask?

**Dee**: You asked awhile ago if I've kept up with your stories, and they are most definitely on my "list" of fics to either read or catch up on when I finish this. There are so many, and I'm looking forward to being done with this so much so that I can have time to read all the great Skate fics I've been missing. :)

**holly**: Way back in September, you suggested something for this fic that I actually had planned from the very beginning, and I'm so glad someone besides me wanted to see that. So in this chapter, you'll get to see it, finally.

I hope to have the last installment finished very soon... You won't have to wait a month for it, I promise. As always, thank you so much for reviewing. And if you have any questions or lingering confusions, please let me know so I can address them in the last update.

* * *

**Chapter 39**

It was good to be on their own again.

Without needing to voice the sentiment out loud, it was something they both could feel and appreciate. They walked northward, in the shadow of an immense mountain, weighted down with backpacks and camping gear. Kate moved with a quick, deliberate stride, trying to force Sawyer to keep up with her. He compensated by walking with intentional, irritating slowness, knowing that she would have to pace herself to match his gait unless she planned to end up far ahead of him, by herself. They glanced at each other challengingly from time to time, each aware of the other's tactic and both wondering who would win out in the end.

Sawyer carried the bulk of the equipment, though Kate had insisted on taking some in spite of his arguments. Of course, he couldn't possibly have carried it all himself, but he felt like he was at least obliged to make the offer. It was probably silly, but he couldn't quite get over his perpetual surprise at how strong and robust and _healthy _she seemed these days. With the sprained ankle and then the wrongly interpreted scare of the kidney infection close on its heels, it had begun to seem like her run of bad health would never end. But it had, and he was relieved to see that she was back to being Kate again - energetic, stubborn, and fiercely independent. She carried on her hip the handgun she'd stolen from Mark and Alicia's cabinet, which they'd told her to keep when she'd tried to give it back. Sawyer had his own, a smaller but equally lethal pistol that he'd bought from Mark just yesterday in preparation for the trip, a transaction Kate had approved. After all, two guns were better than one. Nobody understood that more than they did.

They walked steadily uphill, along a sparsely forested plain with the chain of mountains not far to their left. Once they reached the pass, they would cross over to the other side of the range, but they were still a few hours away from that. The air seemed to grow thinner the higher they went, but it was pure and invigorating. Even Sawyer seemed refreshed by the exercise. Just like on their earlier treks, Kate carried the compass and a piece of paper with directions and coordinates marked on it. This time, though, the map was much more detailed, and they had no doubt that they would be able to find what they were looking for with relative ease. It would require one night of camping out, possibly two at the most, but they were prepared for that as they hadn't been the last time they were out here alone.

"Sawyer, what are you doing?" Kate finally demanded, wheeling around to face him. She couldn't stand it anymore.

He pretended to be surprised. "_What_? Thought we agreed we weren't gonna rush this time."

"I'm not rushing. But you're walking like an old lady! Should we stop so you can whittle yourself a cane?"

He let the sarcasm wash right over him, refusing to allow himself to be ruffled. It gave her too much satisfaction. "What can I say, Freckles. I'm just enjoyin' the scenery." He indicated the sweep of land they traversed.

Kate crossed her arms in front of her with a wry expression. "You _hate _nature."

"Yeah, well, I'm tryin' to let it grow on me. You mind?" he said, approaching where she stood. He smirked down at her, adding in an infuriatingly teasing voice, "Maybe if you'd quit makin' so much noise we could even see us a moose."

She closed her eyes in exasperation, trying not to let him charm her into a smile. It was difficult, especially when he was standing so unnecessarily close. With a sigh, she turned and started walking again, making an effort to go slower. He followed, victorious.

It was New Year's Eve. Sawyer knew this because Kate had spent almost half an hour trying to set the timer on his watch when they'd first started walking, so that they'd know when it was midnight. He'd considered asking her if it really mattered that they observe the exact minute, but hadn't bothered. They'd been unable to leave earlier in the week due to a bout of bad weather and the threat of more snow, which had fortunately been exaggerated. Their tentative plan following this setback had been to start north on January 2, but the events of today had moved up their timetable and convinced them, or Kate at least, that the sooner they were on their own again, the better. The farther they moved from the mining camp, the safer she felt, which was why she struggled with Sawyer's attempts to slow her down. As she walked, her mind ran over the course of the morning behind them, seeing things more clearly and calmly now that she had a little distance.

She'd gotten up early with the intention of doing some laundry. They only had a few sets of clothing each, most of it scavenged from what the miners had left behind or given by Mark and Alicia out of charity, and they went through them fast. She'd left Sawyer behind in the warm bed with a kiss on the cheek just firm enough to wake him up, she hoped. In the miners' lounge, nearly an hour passed while she did a load of whites and one of darks, and she was just pulling the last of the towels from the dryer when she became aware of the strange noise. It was a distant rumbling, growing louder.

Walking to the door, she opened it and looked out. The first thing to catch her eye was Sawyer, who was up by now, dragging the browning Christmas tree away from the mobile home. Grace had told him yesterday that if he put it in the lake, fish would nest around it and that way it wouldn't be a total waste. The _circle of life,_ she'd called it with adorable earnestness. Now he stood beside the tree, apparently trying to decide if it was worth it to pull the damn thing all the way down to the water, or whether he could get away with leaving it here near an older brush pile.

The choppy rumble grew louder, and Kate could feel the door handle vibrate beneath her hand. Sawyer looked up at the sky, then over at her. She stared straight up with a worried expression. Within a few seconds, a helicopter appeared over the top of the westernmost mountain, flying low and coming in for a landing. It was black and official-looking, with a bright Canadian flag painted on each side and the words "Yukon Territory" spelled out in white lettering below. Kate shrank back from the doorway, out of sight. Sawyer watched the helicopter spin around and lower itself to the ground beyond a rise near the lake, then he moved toward the lounge and let himself in.

Once inside, he stood looking at Kate. "It's probably just the miners comin' back from their break," he offered after an interval of silence.

"No," she said quietly, staring into space rather than at him. "Not for another two weeks." She let her gaze rest on him briefly before flickering away toward the window where the helicopter had disappeared from view, then spoke with heavy certainty. "It's government."

The words, with all their threat of spiraling back into an old nightmare, made him feel a little sick. He waited, expecting some kind of decisive reaction out of Kate. What she did was the last thing he would have expected. Walking back to the table where she'd dumped the clean clothes, she began to fold them. With a dazed, eerie calmness, she smoothed pairs of jeans over her arms and laid them in a pile. She adjusted the collar of one of his flannel shirts and aligned the arms. She folded the towels into neat rectangles and even took her time with her underwear, turning each pair right side out and rolling them up together. Sawyer watched her with a strange expression, but he couldn't seem to break the spell in order to say anything. After all, this couldn't really be happening, could it? There had to be some mistake.

Kate continued her meticulous folding. When only socks remained, she paired each with its mate, rolling the top of the higher one down over the lower. She was left with just one, all on its own, and she held it in her hands and stared down at it helplessly, almost as if she didn't recognize what it was. Sawyer noticed the missing culprit on the floor and grabbed it, holding it out to her. "Here," he said, feeling in some bizarre way as if he'd come to the rescue. She took it with a grateful look and slowly bunched the two together, laying the completed pair on the pile.

When she'd finished she simply stood there, wishing there was more laundry left to distract her. The weight of unspoken dread in the room was becoming oppressive. Just when neither one of them seemed able to bear it another minute, the door opened. They both turned toward the sound, terrified and yet somehow relieved.

Alicia came in, looking frazzled. "It's just me," she announced, though of course they could see that by now. "I wanted to let you know what's going on. It's the mine inspectors... they showed up with no warning at all. They normally don't come until spring, and we're not prepared for them. They said something about possible groundwater contamination, which is ridiculous..." Alicia waved her hand away with impatience. "Anyway, they're just common bureaucrats, nothing more. I hope you weren't alarmed." She paused after this, waiting.

"Not at all," Kate said with a faint smile. "We figured it was something like that."

Alicia seemed reassured. Sawyer was a bit surprised that she actually believed Kate. It was always strange to him when people couldn't see, as he so easily could, that she was lying. Then again, nobody had as much practice as he did.

"Well, good," she said, smiling. "I'm glad." She started to go, but Kate stopped her.

"Alicia?"

Turning back, she looked at them both questioningly.

Kate stepped forward a little. "We were talking, and um... I think we're gonna go ahead and go. Today," she added. When Alicia didn't reply immediately, she kept going. "We've got all our gear together, and Mark helped us work out the route last night. So..." she trailed off.

"Weather report's clear for the next few days," Sawyer threw in, to help her. It wasn't at all true that they'd been discussing this, but what the hell? He was just as ready to leave as she was. "You know what they say. Might as well get while the gettin's good."

Alicia studied them both for a few more seconds with hesitation, but then seemed to give in. She nodded somewhat sympathetically. "I understand," she said in a soft voice. "Just... make sure you stop by the house before you leave. I've got something for you. And I know Gracie wants to say goodbye."

"We will," Kate said, thankful for the lack of opposition.

Alicia left, letting the door swing shut behind her. Kate stared after her for a few seconds, then glanced sideways at Sawyer. "Thanks," she said quietly. Lifting the laundry basket onto the table, she began to put the clothes in it.

"Anytime." He watched her, concerned but trying to hide it. It was obvious that he wanted her to explain her unusual reaction to the helicopter, but he couldn't bring himself to ask so bluntly. "You all right?" he ventured.

She finished filling the basket, not looking at him. "Yeah. Fine."

He waited, leaning against the table, still not satisfied.

Finally, she met his eyes, knowing she would have to offer some kind of explanation. "I guess I just wanted to test it out. To see what it feels like."

"See what _what _feels like?"

She thought for a second. "Being safe. Not having to hide, not having to... you know," she said. "I wanted to see what it feels like _not _to be a fugitive."

He kept watching her. "And?"

"And..." she laughed a little, picking up the basket and holding it against her stomach. "It'll take some getting used to."

He agreed with a scoff of mild amusement, looking at the floor and raising his eyebrows. "Ain't that the truth," he muttered. When he raised his gaze to hers again they stared at each other in wordless communion, each perfectly aware of what a difficult period of adjustment they had before them, and of how nearly impossible it would be if they kept having to deal with scares like the one they'd just experienced. Of course, there was also a distinct danger in letting their guard down and getting too comfortable, in giving up the fight. Even though Kate Austen was legally and officially dead, there were no absolute guarantees of their safety, and they could never let themselves forget that. The ramifications of all this passed between them in the space of a few seconds without any need for speaking. Then Sawyer leaned forward, kissing Kate gently over the top of the laundry basket, resting his hands on the sides of her neck as she tilted her chin up. She let just a bit of her tension dissolve, but not all of it. They broke apart with reluctance.

"Come on," she said in a no-nonsense voice as she leaned back, opening her eyes again. "Let's get our stuff."

After they'd packed up everything they were taking on the journey, Kate did a quick but thorough cleaning, determined to leave no traces of them behind. They carried all their gear outside and locked the trailer up without much regret. The habit of moving on was far too ingrained in both of them for attachment or nostalgia to take root that easily.

At the Morris' house, they went inside for a moment. Mark was already down in a gorge with the mine inspectors, but Alicia promised she'd tell him goodbye for them. Grace, knowing that their leaving was inevitable, seemed to have made her peace with it. "Is that heavy?" she asked Sawyer, examining the load on his back, which included a backpack, a bundled-up tent, and a bed roll.

"Weighs more than you do, Squirt," he told her.

She grinned, not believing him for a second.

Alicia brought out a plain white box, not wrapped, but tied with ribbon. "Here," she said, handing it to Kate. "It was supposed to be a Christmas present, but it wasn't finished in time."

Kate looked at her with surprise. "You didn't have to do this."

"I know," Alicia said, slightly embarrassed. "But I wanted to. Go ahead and open it."

Pulling the ribbon aside, Kate took the top off the box, then lifted a gauzy layer of tissue paper that obscured what was inside. Slowly, as if stunned, she set the box on the counter and pulled out a small blanket, holding it up in front of her in growing amazement. She stared at it through suddenly clouded vision, her throat knotting up as she realized what she held. Despite her efforts, she couldn't seem to form any words.

"It's a baby quilt," Alicia explained tentatively, when Kate still didn't say anything. "I... I used those strips of fabric you had around your ankle, when you first got here. They were so pretty, I just couldn't stand to throw them out." She paused. "I hope you don't mind."

Kate swallowed hard, biting her lip. The quilt was lovingly detailed, made in a Grandmother's Flower Garden pattern with the pieces of the old fabric cut into tiny hexagons, grouped into flowers with a cream border winding between them. It was perfect. The dress couldn't possibly have come to a more fitting end. But she felt ridiculous for getting so emotional. It was probably just the hormones, but still...

Sawyer finally answered for her, since some kind of reply was necessary. He seemed to feel a bit silly, having to do this. "She don't mind."

Alicia still looked at Kate, a little confused, not having expected such a reaction.

"It's beautiful," Kate managed at last. "Thank you." Still holding the quilt against her, she leaned forward and hugged Alicia, who seemed quite touched by this response.

"I'm glad you like it," she said, hugging her back.

"I love it," she emphasized, almost fiercely. "Nobody's ever made anything for me before."

Blushing, Alicia took the quilt and folded it up. "Here, turn around, and I'll see if I can find a place for it in your backpack."

Kate complied, only to find Grace looking up at her with suspicion. "Are _you _gonna have a baby too?"

Smiling a little uncomfortably, she thought to herself how close she'd come to making it out of here without having to deal with that question. Though it didn't really make any sense, she liked the fact that there was still _someone _who didn't know, even if that someone happened to be six years old. "That's what they tell me," she said, glancing at Sawyer.

The little girl eyed Kate's midsection with a scrutinizing air, and then looked at her own mother's, comparing the two. "My mom is fatter than you are," was her final verdict. "A _lot _fatter." Sawyer ducked his head, and Kate could tell he was trying not to laugh.

"Thank you, Gracie," Alicia said in weary amusement, zipping Kate's backpack up again after having made room for the quilt.

"When will you come back to see us?" Grace went on, speaking to Kate.

"Soon. We're gonna be neighbors, you know." Then she added, thinking of the distance between the mining camp and the preserve, "Sort of."

"Good." Grace wrapped her arms around Kate's waist. Kate smoothed her hair down for a second, realizing that she was actually going to miss the kid. She'd come to care for these people more than she'd wanted to.

Next Grace moved over to Sawyer, and gestured for him to come down to her level. It wasn't easy for him with so much weight on his back, but he managed to squat in front of her with obvious reluctance. She pulled a purple envelope from where she'd been concealing it underneath her shirt and handed it to him solemnly. "What's this?" he asked, turning it over.

"Don't open it!" she said. Then she gave him further instructions. "You can't open it until you're gone. And you can't let anyone else see it. It's secret."

"_Secret_," he repeated, sliding the envelope into his coat. "Got it." Before he'd even fully accomplished this, however, Grace had flung her arms around his neck. The look on Sawyer's face was priceless - a mingling of shock, embarrassment, and just a hint of vulnerability that Kate had to turn her head away from because of the strange pang it gave her heart. She felt like she was spying on something he wouldn't want her to see.

He tried to speak in a joking manner. "Easy, now. You tryin' to strangle me?" . Raising his right arm, he awkwardly patted Grace on the back, and then stood up so that she would be forced to let go. "We ain't gonna be gone forever."

"I know," Grace said, heaving a deep sigh of relinquishment. She seemed to be practicing being in love.

Outside, Alicia and Grace stood on the small porch with Kate and Sawyer below them, anxious to be on their way. Alicia tried to think of all the last-minute details. "You're sure you've got everything you need? The radios work all right?"

"They work great," Kate said, shading her eyes against the sun to look up at her. "We tried 'em out yesterday."

"Well... make sure you let us know when you get there, so we won't worry."

"We will." Kate paused, feeling like there was so much more that needed to be said. It was just that she was terrible at goodbyes. Sawyer obviously wasn't any better. "Thank you so much, for everything."

"It was our pleasure," Alicia said with a smile, and something about her voice made it clear that she actually meant it. "Maybe it's selfish of me, but I'm glad you're not going far."

"Me too," Grace chimed in, balancing her chin on the porch rail.

"You keep workin' on that wink, gingersnap," Sawyer said. He'd been coaching her all week. "You'll get the hang of it one of these days."

"Watch this one!" She demonstrated her level of progress by tilting her head to one side and raising the corner of her mouth up as high as it would go, which had the effect of forcing her eye partway shut in a vague semblance of a wink.

"Damn near perfect," he lied, looking at Kate for confirmation. She smiled at Grace.

"Tell Clifford we said hello," Alicia said, seeing they were impatient to start. "And _be careful_."

Nodding in agreement, Kate said, "We'll be in touch." They turned to start walking, and Sawyer looked back over his shoulder, calling out "Thanks again!" They both let out their breath in relief at having that part over with as they headed toward the mountain range they would have to pass through, away from the helicopter and the mine and this last tattered outpost of civilization, already feeling the old familiar kindling of nervousness and anticipation at entering the unknown.

Alicia and her daughter continued to watch them for a few minutes, until they were nearly out of view. Then Alicia said a bit sadly, "Come on, honey. It's too cold to stand out here." Taking her mother's hand, Grace allowed herself to be led back inside, and the door shut behind them.

* * *

Kate's concession to Sawyer's desire to go slowly hadn't lasted long. He could see that she was anxious to get on the other side of the mountains, though there was really no pressing reason for this. But he'd learned over time that there was often no pressing reason for _anything _Kate did. She created her own sense of urgency, which conformed only to her own internal logic. And once her strived-for goal was achieved, there would be no sense of satisfaction or contentment, but rather an immediate focus on the next grail to be sought after. He'd gotten used to it by now, he supposed. But he wondered what it would be like for her when they reached this place and got permission to stay there, and how she would deal with having no more immediate plans to make. Would she turn the pregnancy itself into a series of stages to be mastered and overcome? _Probably_, he thought, not at all excited by the prospect.

It had been an hour since their last break when she said breathlessly, "This is it, I think. See? There's the rock that looks like a goat."

Sawyer looked up, squinting. "I thought he was joking about that," he muttered under his breath.

As they moved nearer they could see where the pass opened up, a yawning gap between the mountains, dark and imposing. It would be wide enough to drive through with an all-terrain vehicle in the spring and summer months, probably, but it was still packed with snow at this time of the year. It looked cold and uninviting.

"You sure about this?" Sawyer asked.

"You want to go back?" she replied with a glint of excitement in her eyes, already knowing the answer as she headed into the boulder-strewn tunnel. He followed her.

Once inside the pass, the air grew noticeably more frigid, and the dark shadowed snow was locked into solid ice in patches. The sky was only a strip above them, caught between the two mountains, and no direct sunlight reached the bottom of the gorge where they walked. It was an ominous location, and yet somehow thrilling at the same time.

They quickly discovered that the steep rocky heights rising up on either side of them allowed for a pronounced, booming echo, and it was too tempting not to take advantage of. They took turns hollering out dirty words to see which had the best acoustic reverberation. Sawyer thought that _douchebag _was pretty damn entertaining in his accent, particularly since he had Jack in mind when he shouted it. Kate, however, found that _handjob _had the best comedic effect for her voice, since it was rendered back to her by the echo in the form of a question, like an overenthusiastic prostitute. _Handjob? Handjob? Handjob? _She got to laughing so hard that she had to collapse onto a boulder in order to catch her breath. Sawyer just shook his head. The truth was, of course, that he loved it when she acted juvenile with him. It happened so rarely that it was always a treat. And today, the release was something that they both needed. They seemed to have almost forgotten the scare from this morning in their tasteless-yet-diverting game.

It soon became clear, though, that they were risking death by avalanche through their continued shouting, so they called a truce and continued on more quietly. The further they moved toward the other side, the more rugged the path became, and much of their concentration went toward keeping their footing. The weight they were carrying made it more difficult than it normally would have been, and Sawyer insisted on walking just in front of Kate so that he could more easily help her over the worst parts. She accepted this without much enthusiasm, knowing that he was in greater danger of falling than she was.

"Hey," she said at one point, when they'd reached a relatively clear area. "How much money do we have left?"

He gave her a funny look. "Why? You want to stop at the mall?"

"I'm just curious."

He thought for a second, calculating in his head. "I don't know. Not much. Maybe ten grand."

"Because I was thinking that maybe we could invest some of it." She paused, and when he didn't say anything, she clarified. "In the mine."

He laughed sarcastically, and then realized that she was serious. "You gotta be kidding me."

She pressed on, undaunted. He could tell she'd been thinking about it for a while, probably just waiting for the right opportunity to spring her idea. "They could really use the help, even if it's not much. I mean, we owe them something, after everything they did."

"You don't invest out of charity, sweetheart. Thought you were smarter than that." He turned and gave her his arm to lower herself down from a ledge before she could jump. "It's a bad idea."

"Why?" she asked, landing beside him.

"Because that mine is a worthless sinkhole, that's why! Only thing it's ever done is eat up their money."

"Mark thinks it's just a matter of time before they get to the really rich veins. He said it could be as soon as a few months."

Sawyer tried not to roll his eyes. "Look, he's a nice guy, but he doesn't know shit about mining."

"Oh, and you _do_?" she asked, clearly amused.

"I know there's a better chance of _Driveshaft _going triple platinum than there is of these space cadet ex-hippies strikin' it rich up here."

"They've had a lot of tests done, you know." She paused for a second to lift a canteen of water from around her neck. "It isn't just guesswork. They've brought scientists in, and all kinds of experts... There's stuff down there. And they're gonna find it." She took a long drink, and he stopped, waiting.

"Well, I'm glad to see you got faith," he told her dryly. "But they ain't gettin' my money."

"_Your _money?" she repeated, wiping her mouth and passing him the canteen. "I thought it was _our _money."

He took a drink, realizing that his phrasing hadn't been the wisest. But damn it, he _hated _having to share money. Even with Kate, who he was willing to share just about everything else with. It was either that, though, or allowing this whole thing to get blown out of proportion. And he could already tell that it wasn't worth it. "Fine," he said, as he screwed the cap on the canteen and handed it back to her. "We'll split it, fifty-fifty. Will that make you happy? You invest your half your way, and I'll invest mine _my _way," he said, pointing at her and then indicating himself with a knowing grin. "And we'll just see who doubles theirs first."

"Okay. You're on," she said, perking up at the notion of competition. They started walking again, and Kate couldn't resist asking, "What's the winner get?"

Sawyer glanced at her like it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. "More _money_."

She shoved his arm playfully, and he pretended that he was going to lift her up and fling her over his shoulder while she ducked away, laughing.

* * *

It took much longer than they'd anticipated to make it through the pass. By the time they emerged on the other side, the afternoon was beginning to wane. They stopped to rest briefly in the slanting rays of the sun, grateful for the increased temperature. On the other side of the mountains, where they'd just come from, it was probably already getting dark. They stood against the rock wall, on an incline, and Kate shaded her eyes to look across the valley that spread out below them. "Look!" she said suddenly, pointing. "There's the river!"

Sawyer could just barely make it out in the glare, a winding serpent-like ribbon that sparkled and glinted in the dying light. By the time he'd located it in his field of vision, Kate was halfway down the slope, moving toward it. He sighed and took off after her.

Once again, it took much longer than they'd expected to reach the river. The vast open spaces here seemed to distort their sense of distance, meaning that they constantly underestimated the time required to move from one landmark to another. Even Kate seemed to be noticeably flagging when they finally approached the wide gravel beach that bordered the swift-flowing water, though she tried to hide it.

"Now the hard part's over," she said, pleased with their progress so far. "All we have to do is follow it, right to the preserve."

"_Swell_," Sawyer said, as he removed the load on his back with an effort and dumped it on the ground.

She turned to look at him. "What are you doing?"

"Sun's goin' down." He tilted his chin in the direction of the western sky, as if maybe she hadn't noticed this fact yet.

"Wow," she said, coming back toward him a little, speaking in a mock-thoughtful tone of voice with her nose wrinkled teasingly. "Moose-watching, _and _a sunset, all in one day? Maybe you should become a poet."

He shot her a contemptuous expression. "Or maybe we should make camp before it's too dark to see what the hell we're doing."

She smiled, but still hesitated for just a second. He came over and pulled her backpack from her shoulders, tossing it with the rest of the stuff. "Sit down. You been on your feet too long."

Suddenly, she realized how tired she was. Her hair that had been so carefully pulled into a ponytail this morning was now falling down around her face in clumps. Her lips were chapped, her feet were sore, and her cheeks felt numb. She was also starving. So instead of arguing, she simply said, "All right." Since there was nowhere else to sit, she lowered herself to the ground and leaned back against the bedrolls that they would use later tonight. Sawyer tried not to look surprised that she hadn't put up a fight.

He began gathering driftwood and dried grasses for a fire. When he had enough, she tossed him the lighter and he cupped his hands around the lone flame and blew on it until it spread to the whole pile. Kate breathed in the smell of the wood smoke as the blaze started to crackle and grow, already feeling the delicious warmth on her face. She considered telling Sawyer that he should make another pile of wood before it got dark so that they could replenish the fire as needed, but she decided against it. He would somehow manage to be offended by the advice, she was sure of it.

Next, he unwrapped the mesh netting from around the tent and spread it out on the ground. Kate saw immediately that it was the kind that had to be assembled, rather than the kind that simply popped up in one piece, and she winced inwardly. She hadn't even wanted to bring a tent, knowing that they would be fine sleeping next to the fire, under the stars. But Mark had insisted, promising that the extra warmth would be worth it. Sawyer had agreed, even though it meant extra weight for him. But now that he was going to have to figure out how to put the thing together, Kate could see him wishing he'd thought the offer through in a little more detail.

"I can do that," she volunteered, already knowing what the answer would be.

"I got it." He didn't even look at her, but just kept unfolding the nylon canvas. She didn't tell him that he had it upside down. He eventually came to this conclusion on his own, and then located the thin fiberglass tent poles that would function as the frame. He held them up, obviously wondering why they were so short. Kate bit her lip to keep from informing him that they were segmented, and that he needed to pull on one end to increase the length, like with a portable radio antenna. When he realized this, he tried to determine where to put them within the material of the tent.

"Sawyer..."

"Would you quit staring at me?" he snapped.

"What else am I supposed to stare at?" she asked in a calm voice.

He worked at inserting the tent poles. When he finally had one set up, he circled around to the other side to try to secure another one. The first one collapsed. "Son of a _bitch_!"

She stood up, unable to take any more. "I'm telling you, I know how to do this. Would you _please _just let me..."

"Fine," he interrupted, throwing the poles at her feet, irritably. "Good _luck_. Damn thing's broken." He walked over to where she'd been sitting, and she turned her head to watch him, a hint of mischief in her expression.

"Time me."

He seemed to think that he'd heard her wrong. "_What_?"

She repeated herself, emphasizing each word separately with a coy smile. "_Time me_." She gestured at his watch.

Now he looked at her like she'd really lost her mind. When it finally sank in that she was serious, he shook his head, glancing around as if he wished he had someone else here on his side, to see what he had to put up with. Then he seemed to give in, flinging one arm out with exasperation as he looked down at his watch. "_Go_."

She went into action immediately, putting the pegs into the shallow, rocky soil and then stretching the canvas out and securing it to them at the four corners. She gathered up the poles from where he'd thrown them on the ground and pulled each out to its full length, then slid them expertly into their appointed sleeves. She clipped them into place, forming a lightweight bone-like frame that supported the nylon material. When she'd finished the last one, she stood and dusted off her knees, looking at him eagerly. "Well?"

He rolled his eyes, but finally told her in a grudging tone, "Three minutes, twenty-eight seconds."

"Not bad," she said, thinking. "Not my _best_, but not bad."

"You're sick, you know that?" Sawyer said. But there was more than a little admiration lurking deep behind his annoyance with her.

She laughed, coming back toward him. "Let's eat."

The last vestiges of light disappeared from the sky quickly once the sun had gone down. They sat on opposite sides of the fire in the complete darkness, enjoying a dinner of vacuum-sealed salami, crackers, and some kind of cheese paste, with granola bars for dessert. Or at least Kate appeared to enjoy it. She ate most of the food herself. Sawyer simply endured the meal.

"You gonna finish that?" she asked, when she noticed that he'd taken one bite of his granola bar and then just sat there holding it.

He tossed it to her without regret. Then, as if remembering something, he reached inside his coat and brought out from the inner pocket the envelope Grace had given him earlier. He turned it over in the firelight a few times, then opened it up and unfolded the piece of paper that was inside. Kate could see through it enough to know that it had been written in crayon, and she thought she could detect a big red heart, but she couldn't make out the words. She watched him read it, and he tried to suppress a smile. She waited, hoping he would share, but he didn't. Her curiosity was killing her.

"So what's it say?"

"'Fraid I can't tell ya that," he said, looking at her over the top of the paper. "You heard the girl. It's _secret_."

Kate smiled a little. "Yeah, well, maybe I'll get myself a six-year-old boyfriend to make _you _jealous."

He folded the paper back up and replaced it in the envelope. Whatever had been in it seemed to have put him in a better mood, or at least a more conversational one. "Where'd you learn to set up a tent that fast?"

She glanced over at their shelter, thoughtfully. "My dad. We used to camp out all the time. If I didn't have the tent finished within four minutes, he'd make me take it apart, start all over again."

"Sounds like fun," he said with sarcasm.

"I thought it was," she said, realizing that this was actually true. It had been like a game, never taken seriously. And he'd been so proud when she got it right. She stared into the fire for a while, her next words spoken slowly, as if she only understood what they meant by saying them out loud. "He's going to think I'm really dead. If he doesn't hear about it on the news, then someone'll notify him. Probably even have a funeral. My name could already be on a headstone, somewhere." She wadded up the wrapper from the granola bar and tossed it into the flames, watching it blaze up. "He'll believe I'm dead, and so will..." Here she stopped herself, looking up at Sawyer. "Everyone else," she finished carefully.

"Good," he said, not taking his eyes off her. "That's the idea."

Something about the tone of his voice bothered her, and made her feel suddenly combative. Though she'd never once considered the idea before, she found herself saying, as if she actually intended to follow through with it, "Maybe I'll find some way to let them know I'm okay."

"Like hell you will," he said. "You out of your mind? After everything we been through, you're willin' to risk it all again just so Daddy doesn't have to put on black?" He lowered his voice with menacing contempt. "So the doc can save himself a few sniffles?"

Kate gave him a sharp look, angry. Her voice became brittle. "They cared about me. Not many people did. And maybe I want them to know that it wasn't all for nothing. That I made it, and that... that I'm _alive_. You think it's fair that you're the only person in my life from before, who knows I'm not dead?"

"_Fair _don't have nothin' to do with it," he said darkly. "It's safer this way, and you damn well know it is. It's a fresh start. Isn't that what you wanted?"

She stared into the fire, weary all of a sudden. "Yeah, she said after a moment. Her tone was dull and lifeless. "It's what I wanted."

But Sawyer wasn't ready to let the subject go. "Then promise me you'll drop this crazy idea and not go sneakin' off to some pay phone behind my back."

Now she gave him a long look of defiant contemplation. It was clear that she wasn't going to concede anything at all. "We'll talk about this later," she finally said. "I don't think we have to worry about finding any _pay phones _out here."

He leaned forward, intent. "Maybe I feel like talkin' about it _now_."

"Then go ahead and talk! But I'm not promising you anything."

He gave a silent, bitter laugh. "What else is new?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, flaring up again. He didn't seem disposed to answer, and he wasn't even looking at her anymore. Alarm bells sounded in her head, and she knew that she should stop right now, that the wise thing to do would be to say nothing more at all. But her sense of justice got the better of her. She sat up straighter. "You know what your problem is, Sawyer? You want me to pretend that nobody else matters to me... that you're the only person _in the world _I care about! And I won't do that." She shook her head, vehement. "I _can't_."

"Guess that's the difference between us, Freckles," he said with a pointed glance, eyebrows raised. "I don't have to _pretend_."

Kate felt her temper rising to the boiling point at the way he managed to look so goddamn _wounded_. "What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice getting louder and threatening to break as she continued. "Look where we are! It's just us out here, isn't it? I've got a ring on my finger, I've given you _everything _I have, and it's never enough!" She stopped, dropping back into a tone just above a whisper. "What are you so afraid of?"

He seemed to be considering, and for a second she entertained the hope that he might actually give her an honest answer. But she should have known better. "Maybe you oughtta be asking yourself that question," he said, throwing the ball safely back in her court.

She leaned back a little, disappointed but not surprised. "I'll tell you what I'm afraid of," she said quietly. "I'm afraid that one day, when we have this fight for probably the thousandth time... when I'm trying to tell you what you mean to me for the _thousandth _time..." She swallowed hard. "That I'm gonna stop caring whether you believe me or not."

There was just a hint of pain in his expression before it suddenly hardened, turned sinister. A smile played around his lips, but didn't touch his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. You and me both know we ain't gonna make it to a thousand. Hell, I expect I'll wake up to the note on the nightstand _long _before then." He stopped for a second, his voice dropping into a lower register that made her blood run cold. "Guess what really I'm wonderin' is, when that happens..." He paused again. "You gonna take the kid with ya?" He didn't look away from her for a second. "Or leave it behind for _me _to deal with?"

Kate stared back at him in horror, feeling as if she'd been slapped. There was something so terrifying about him when he got like this, so _malevolent_. There was a stranger looking out at her from behind his eyes, someone she could never know or love, someone so vicious and ruthless that he would say _anything _to hurt her. And he knew exactly what would hurt her the most.

She remained too stunned to respond, and eventually, she could see him beginning to falter. He was forced to look away from her, and then he stood up, grabbing the bedroll that he'd been leaning against. He carried it toward the tent, obviously with the intention of retiring for the night. Kate watched him.

When he was getting ready to duck inside the shelter, she finally managed to speak. Her voice wasn't loud, but he had no trouble hearing it. "What makes you so sure it won't be you?" He turned his head toward her, and she added bitingly, "Who leaves the _note_."

There was that smirk again, but now most of the venom was drained out of it. He seemed more tired than anything else as he stared out in the direction of the dark river. "I'm _not_." He looked at Kate again, hard. "Does that make you feel better?" With all the contempt he could still muster, he disappeared into the tent.

For a while she sat completely frozen, staring at the closed tent flap. She could feel the blood pounding in her temples, and her throat was tight and constricted. She tried to slow her breathing. Her eyes remained dry, though, with a cold and glittery appearance. She wouldn't cry. Not tonight.

Resting her head in her hands, she stared at the flickering patterns the firelight made on the ground below her. She tried to trace the path by which their argument had reached the disastrous point it had, without much success. It was always a bit of a mystery, how things managed to turn hostile between them so fast. Neither one of them ever had the wisdom to put a stop to it while there was still a chance. At least she knew better than to blame herself entirely. He could make her feel miserable, but he wouldn't make her feel _guilty_. Not this time, anyway.

What she most wanted to know, more than anything else, was whether he really _believed _what he'd said or not - whether he really believed that one day he would wake up, and she would be gone. There was something about the way he'd brought it out suddenly, with no warning, that made her think it was a fear he'd harbored for a long time, rather than one he'd simply invented to hurt her.

And if that was true, as she suspected it was, then they hadn't made nearly as much progress together as she'd been lulled into believing they had. Maybe things had just been too easy lately. Maybe all the old issues, all the old doubts and fears, would never truly go away. The two of them would just keep reliving these same cycles over and over again, getting older but never any wiser, acquiring battle tactics and techniques but not insight. They were both too selfish and guarded to openly reassure each other, and too distrustful to believe in empty words and phrases, even if they had. So each fight would simply be a draw, a stalemate until the arsenal could be replenished and hauled out for another round.

Kate pressed her hands against her closed eyes, fighting against the dizzying vertigo that threatened her when she tried to imagine what the distant future could hold for them. If it held _anything_, that was. Because they would never get good at this, she realized now, admitting it to herself for the first time. They would never be like Mark and Alicia, settled and companionable and peacefully at ease with each other. It was stupid to think that a baby would make them that way. They would never mellow into a gently bickering old couple, like Cecil and Joanne, the grandparents they'd stayed with in Kentucky. They would probably never even attain the bemused tolerance of Charlie and Claire, which in its own way required a kind of maturity that they would never possess. The truth of it was that the two of them, Sawyer and herself, were going to be amateurs forever, like children playing at being grown-ups. Only unlike children, their weapons were dangerously real, and the wounds they caused weren't imaginary. But there was no help for it, was there? Their lives, their pasts, hadn't equipped them for anything else.

Then what exactly were they supposed to do? she asked herself. The answer, she supposed, was nothing. There was nothing they could do. Nothing except to hold on to each other for as long as they could, because they were simply too entwined and tangled up in one another to do anything else. It would never get any easier. It would always be precarious, a matter of moving forward inch by inch, of taking one day at a time and refusing to look too far ahead into the future. If they did that, if they concentrated on the here and now, on the ground underneath their feet, then maybe someday they would wake up and find themselves already there, in that distant time that scared them both so much, without even realizing how or by what means they'd arrived. It wasn't likely, but it was _possible_. Time itself was the only thing they could count on to get them there.

Kate suddenly felt exhausted. She didn't want to think about this anymore tonight. It was as if the entire day, the entire _trip_, had caught up with her all at once. She reached behind her and spread the second bedroll out on the ground. She was in no mood yet to join Sawyer in the tent. Crawling into it, she pulled her backpack toward her and took out the quilt Alicia had made. It was much too small, and probably too thin, to provide any additional warmth out here, but she wanted it anyway. She ran her fingers over the familiar fabric, holding it up against her as she fell asleep.

She was awakened by the sound of a wolf howling, close by. Sitting up with a start, she judged that she'd been asleep for at least a few hours. The fire was getting low. The howl came again, a deep, mournful, and very disturbing sound. It seemed to originate from the opposite bank of the river, only a couple of yards away. Too close.

Kate looked toward the tent, expecting some kind of reaction from Sawyer. But there was nothing. He must have heard it, but he didn't even poke his head out. She shook her head, disgusted with him.

She lay back down slowly, knowing there was probably nothing to worry about. Maybe it could see the fire. Or maybe it was just lonely, and looking for a mate. In any case, it wouldn't approach. She tried to go back to sleep.

The howl came again, even louder this time, and she gritted her teeth. The tent remained still and quiet. Kate was all of a sudden reminded of the night she'd been out here in the wilderness alone, and she'd heard this same sound of howling, only from a much greater distance. And then she'd heard Sawyer's voice in her head, comforting her. How ironic that his phantom presence had been more reassuring than his _actual _presence. She felt even more isolated now, locked in this stony mutual avoidance, than she had when she was truly alone.

Now it began again, starting down low but quickly climbing to a hair-raising, ghostly wail, and this time it was joined by other howls, three or four at least, overlapping in a nightmarish chorus just across the water. It was a terrible sound that chilled her to the very depths of her being. And she made up her mind that she wouldn't stand it for another second. To hell with Sawyer.

She laid the quilt back over her backpack, stood up, and moved toward the noise of the wolves. Walking decisively down toward the river, she drew the pistol from the belt loop of her jeans. At the very edge of the water she stopped, and in one smooth motion flicked the safety off, raised the gun high into the air, and fired three times in rapid succession. The shots rang out deafeningly, echoing away into the blackness. Complete, wonderful silence reigned in their wake.

Breathing hard, she lowered her arms, feeling the tingling vibration that traveled down from her hands outward to her entire body. It made her feel powerful, safe, and very much alive. It was a sensation she loved. She'd almost forgotten how much she loved it.

The barrel of the gun was warm as she replaced it, and the acrid smell of the powder lingered in the air. The pack of wolves, if they were still there, remained quiet. Their howling was over for tonight.

Satisfied, she went back up to the campsite and tossed a few more logs on the fire. As she watched the sparks traveling upward, her attention was caught by something else. She stepped back from the blaze, staring straight up at the sky in wonder.

From the northern horizon to the southern, and covering everything in between, bright green curtains of light danced and flickered across her field of vision. The stars were almost obscured by the brilliant show, which was dazzling and clear in some spots, while pale and milky-tinted in others. The lights shifted and vied with each other almost playfully, and it was hard not to believe that a conscious power was responsible for their beautiful contortions.

She hurried toward the tent, momentarily forgetting her anger at Sawyer. "Hey," she said, crawling in. "You awake?"

He had his head buried in the sleeping bag, and his voice was muffled. "You just fired a revolver. What the hell do you think?"

She considered the wisdom of her plan for a second, but then forged ahead. "Come out here for a minute. I want to show you something."

He raised up slightly and looked at her. "Did you kill anybody?"

Kate rolled her eyes. "_No_, I didn't kill anybody."

"Then it can wait till morning." He put the blanket back over his head.

She sighed. "No, it can't. You have to see it now." She waited a second, then put her hand on his ankle. "Please? Just get up."

He tossed the blanket off again, annoyed, and pulled himself up from the bedroll. "This better be good."

Outside the entrance to the tent, Kate stood and waited for him to join her. He stooped through the entrance and straightened up, immediately noticing the sky. "Great," he said sarcastically. "We make it this far, and now we're gonna get abducted by some damn aliens?"

Kate smiled. "It's not _aliens_. It's the Aurora Borealis."

He looked over at her. "You want to say that again in English?"

"It's the _Northern Lights_," she said, as if it should be obvious. "Haven't you ever seen them before?"

"Can't say I have." He watched the sky for a minute, trying to remain unimpressed. "What's the big deal? Throw in a little Pink Floyd, and we got ourselves a laser show."

Kate continued on in a wistful voice, as if she hadn't heard him. "My dad used to say that they only showed up when I was camping with him, because they were the same color as my eyes."

Sawyer made a scornful noise. "Quite a line, for a military man."

"He hardly ever said things like that. Which is probably why I remember it so well," she added, after consideration. She waited hopefully, like she expected something.

Sawyer seemed to know what this was. "So I guess this is the part where I'm supposed to say _maybe you could drop him a line_, and you say _maybe I will_, and we kiss and make up, and forget about all that other stuff we said, right?" He suddenly dropped his mock-sincere tone, looking at her sharply. "Well, _forget it_. Try your little act on someone who'll fall for it."

She regarded him quietly, disappointed but only mildly surprised. As frustrating as his response was, she felt a certain grudging respect for him, for his ability to see right through her calculated ploy for reconciliation. "All right, Sawyer," she eventually said in a tired, defeated tone. "Go back to bed." She turned her attention to the sky again, dismissing him. But he didn't leave.

"What if it fell into the wrong hands?" he asked, grabbing her above the elbow and turning her toward him. "What then? Or let's say you call up the doc like I know you're probably _dyin' _to do, and someone just happens to intercept that phone call? One little mistake," he said, shaking her arm for emphasis, "and the whole goddamn cycle starts up all over again. They'll hunt you down for the rest of your life. And you're tellin' me it's _worth it_?"

His face was close to hers, and she could actually see the reflection of the strange lights in his eyes. His expression was intense and somehow pleading. She could see how much he needed her to say _No_, to tell him that he was right, that of course it would never be worth it. She wished that she could.

"I don't know," she told him truthfully. "I don't know yet."

Sawyer continued to stare down at her, saddened and just a bit resentful. His watch beeped, breaking the spell. Releasing his grip on her arm, he glanced at his wrist. "_Happy New Year_," he said bitterly, turning to go back into the tent.

"Wait," she called out. There had to be some way to save this night. Wasn't it bad luck to start the new year fighting? The two of them needed all the luck they could possibly get.

"I promise that I won't do anything without telling you about it first. I'll at least give you the _chance _to talk some sense into me. Okay?" she asked, stepping toward him, imploring him to meet her halfway. "Nothing behind your back," she said with emphasis. "That much, I can promise."

He didn't answer, but she could see him yielding.

"_Now _can we kiss and make up? And forget about that other stuff we said?" She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his jaw line, lightly. "Please?"

"I ain't apologizing," he said.

"Good," she said. "Neither am I." She raised up and kissed him again, on his bottom lip this time. He was still holding out, trying not to respond. It made her even more determined to succeed. "Hey," she said casually, just barely above a whisper. "You remember that night at the motel in Kentucky? When you... _tortured _me, for hours?" She smiled. "And I said I'd get you back for that someday?"

She had his attention now. She could sense the change, though he still pretended not to care. "I might."

"Well..." She leaned against him, going for her best seductive pose. "Maybe this is a good time for some payback."

He finally looked down, acknowledging her. "Does that mean you're gonna be doin' all the work?"

"Most of it," she said with a mischievous grin. She breathed against his ear, tickling him. "Not _all _of it." When she kissed him again, he kissed her back. There was only so much one man could hold out against.

He allowed her to shove him gently backwards into the tent. The stunning panorama of flickering light continued on in the sky over their heads, unheeded by either one of them.

Over the course of the long night, she made love to him with a finicky, infinitely patient attention to detail that she'd never managed before, bringing him just to the brink over and over again, driving him out of his mind. Whenever he caved to his impulses and reached for her, she drew back, maddeningly. The air inside the small tent became so warm it was difficult to breathe. Her self-control and stamina seemed to surprise even her, and the more she explored this new power, the more confident she became. Her entire body was an instrument that she was in perfect control of, and she made use of it to tantalizing and bewitching effect. The fire outside died away slowly, taking with it its meager light, leaving them to gasp and writhe together in complete and total blackness inside their temporary bedroom. Sawyer's final release, granted by Kate as a kind of queenly parting gift once the real performance was over, had so much pent-up tension behind it that he nearly lost consciousness.

It seemed ages before his heart rate returned to normal. "Where the hell did you learn how to do that?" he asked in awe, still breathing hard.

She was nearly asleep, just as exhausted as he was. "From you," she whispered, smiling coyly. She leaned up on her elbow to give him one more kiss, then collapsed beside him again.

"_Damn_," he muttered after thinking about this for a second, already drifting off. "I'm a good teacher."

Kate laughed a little without opening her eyes. Within minutes, they were both deeply asleep.

* * *

Sawyer felt his shoulder being shaken, early in the morning. He was nowhere near ready to wake up.

"Come on. We need to get moving." It sounded like she'd already had coffee.

"It's still dark," he said, shoving her hand away. He hadn't recovered from last night yet. Now if he could just find some way to get her to take her time and relax when they _weren't _having sex, he thought to himself. Then he'd _really _have accomplished something.

"We've got a lot of ground to cover, if we don't want to camp out again," she went on in her reasoning voice. "I'm not sure if we have enough food for another night."

"And whose fault is that?" he asked rhetorically.

She shot him a warning glance over her shoulder as she climbed out of the tent. "Are _you _eating for two?"

He pulled the blanket up again without bothering to answer that. He'd almost made it back to sleep when she began taking the tent apart with him still inside it. Muttering curses under his breath, he crawled out from under the collapsed canvas and went down to the river to splash some water on his face.

They had a hasty breakfast of cereal bars. To Sawyer, it tasted like something scraped off the bottom of a shoe. They repacked everything, bewildered by the fact that it seemed to take up more space than it had yesterday. How was that possible? When they started walking northward again, the sky was just beginning to lighten. Kate glanced over at the area on the other side of the river where the wolves must have been last night. It was empty, this morning. The only trace of life was a hawk circling in the air, hunting for prey.

They stayed alongside the river, taking short breaks every hour or so. Gradually the morning wore away to afternoon. They began to notice that there was more snow on the ground here, and that it was more solidly packed down. This region must have taken the brunt of the blizzard that had hit just after Sawyer had arrived at the mining camp, almost two weeks ago now. It slowed them down a bit, but not too much.

The two of them remained quiet, for the most part. They were more tired today than they had been yesterday, with less energy for joking around, but that wasn't all of it. Maybe there was a bit of lingering rawness from the fight they'd had last night. Those words couldn't be unsaid or forgotten, even with a night of lovemaking in the interval to take the sting out of them. Or maybe there was just a growing realization that with every single step now, they were closing the short gap between themselves and the elusive destination that they'd endured so many hardships to get to. They both seemed to feel a combination of dread and excitement, and they both wondered what they would find, and whether it would live up to their expectations, or whether it would be the worst disappointment they'd encountered yet. They discussed none of this, however. They simply walked next to each other, following the river to wherever it would take them.

Sometime around two or three in the afternoon, the land began to rise at a steep angle, growing more noticeable by the minute. The river flowed through the middle of two low rocky foothills, cutting in between them. The only way to stay near its banks was to climb straight over. There was no end in sight to the chain of foothills on the eastern side, so attempting to walk around it could take hours. Though Sawyer clearly hated the idea, they decided to go right over the top

Kate went first, and Sawyer stayed right behind her so that he could break her fall if necessary. He helped out by giving her a boost over the steepest rises. This also allowed him to keep his hands on her ass most of the time, which was a nice bonus. When they neared the top, the rock leveled out so that it was possible to walk bent over at an angle. At the very peak, it became almost completely flat. They straightened up and looked out before them. Kate drew in her breath in amazement, clutching at Sawyer's arm.

"_Damn_," he said, awed in spite of himself. "I'd say we found the place."

The low chain of foothills that they stood upon continued into the west, on the opposite side of the river, as far as the eye could see. In the east, these foothills joined together with the mountains that they'd crossed through yesterday, forming a natural barrier. Within this barrier was a basin-shaped valley. And dotting this valley, spread out across mile upon mile of snow-covered plain, were the caribou - hundreds, if not thousands, of them, shaggy-coated and buff-colored against the white background, the antlers standing out proudly. The animals ranged over the territory, some standing clumped together, others solitary and apart.

"If you volunteer us to feed these things, I'm gonna kill you," Sawyer said slowly.

She smiled. "I'm pretty sure they feed themselves."

She leaned against his shoulder a little, still looking down over the valley. He was hit by a sudden stab of love for her that seemed to come from nowhere at all, and he rested his chin on the top of her head and breathed in.

"Okay," she said, getting ready to move into action again. "We'd better keep going. It's still a few more miles till we get to the guy's house."

"Don't you mean _bunker_?" he corrected her, without enthusiasm.

"Whatever." She started down the other side toward the valley, reversing their climb.

"What, you're just gonna walk right down there into 'em?" Sawyer asked, alarmed. "What if they stampede?"

She looked back. "They're not _bulls_," she said, unable to resist making fun of him a little. "Besides, they're on the other side of the river. They won't cross it."

"Oh, so you're a _reindeer _expert, now?"

He caught up with her, and they continued down to the level plain, following the course of the river again. Some of the caribou that were near the water flitted back nervously and retreated, while some simply stared, frozen in surprise. "I don't like the way they're lookin' at us," Sawyer said with suspicion. Kate laughed at him.

"In less than an hour or so, we're actually gonna be there," she said, as if she were talking to herself. "Can you believe it?"

"Don't jinx us, Freckles."

"Oh, come on," she said, amused. "What could possibly happen _now_?"

As if in direct answer to this question, within seconds they both became aware of a distant droning sound, growing increasingly louder. They stopped and listened.

"What is that?" Kate asked apprehensively.

He didn't answer at first, and she looked up at him. "Sounds like a plane," he finally said.

She shook her head. "It can't be."

It was, though, as she immediately became aware of. The whining drone of a small twin-engine aircraft soon became unmistakable, and they both looked around for it, scanning the sky. It came into view from the south, flew over their heads, and then circled back around, as if whoever was flying it had spotted them. It was a ski-plane, built specifically to land on this kind of terrain. Kate backed up a little, and her eyes darted around her instinctively. But they were out in the open, in the middle of a vast plain next to a swift-flowing river. There was absolutely nowhere to run.

Her face registered fear, and they both looked up at the plane again, which was now very obviously preparing to land. It circled in a wide loop on the other side of the river, then came lower and lower. The caribou, disturbed, fanned out in two directions, leaving a wide, empty path. But the plane didn't touch down here. It crossed over the river instead, where it finally made contact with the ground, the skis on the bottom at first bouncing and then skidding smoothly across the snow-covered plain. It came to a complete halt about a hundred yards ahead of them.

Sawyer pulled out the handgun he'd bought from Mark. He looked over at Kate, who was staring at the plane in disbelief. She glanced at him. He seemed to be waiting for her to do something, but he looked miserable about it. She understood what he wanted, but everything in her resisted the necessity.

"Better safe than sorry," he said, wishing he could spare her this, somehow. But they were in it together. For better or worse, they were in it together.

She pulled out her own gun. So much for not feeling like a fugitive. It had been nice while it lasted.

They stood together, weapons poised, ready to fight to the death, if need be. There would be no more bargaining. It had cost them nearly everything they had to make it to this place, and they wouldn't be taken from it alive.

As they watched, a man climbed down out of the plane and began to walk toward them.


	40. Chapter 40

Well, it's finally here - the very last chapter. I'm sorry it's later than I thought it would be. But then again, it just wouldn't be the same if it wasn't, right? I gave you one last chance to be annoyed with me, for old-time's sake. ;)

Let's see - the only really important thing to note, I suppose, is that Clifford is played (in my head) by the guy who played the guidance counselor Mr. Rosso on Freaks and Geeks. (Which, BTW, is the most brilliant and perfect TV show ever made in the history of TV.) I really love that guy! You can see a picture of him in the thread for this fic at Lost-Forum, if you so desire. (You can also see a scan of Grace's letter to Sawyer, if you were curious about what it said.)

And I'll try to keep this part simple, because there's nothing I can say that I haven't already said a hundred times before - but the whole experience of writing this fic has meant more to me than you guys can ever know. I feel like I've changed a lot in this past year and a half, and so much of that comes from the confidence I've gotten by doing this and by knowing that you actually enjoy and appreciate it. I write in absolute isolation, and no one I know in real life reads this, so your feedback has been of supreme importance in inspiring me and keeping me going. I really can't believe it's coming to an end. And though I'm still hoping to do a third part, I can't absolutely promise anything. But there's a very good possibility it'll happen.

I guess there's nothing more to do than to post the chapter, then, huh? I hope you enjoy the ending. And thank you so much, again, for sticking with me.

* * *

**C****hapter 40**

"Stop!"

Kate's voice rang out commandingly. She held her weapon high, as did Sawyer. They presented an imposing obstacle. But as if the man hadn't even heard, he continued his steady trek toward them.

"I said _stop_!" she shouted again, more frantic this time. "Stay where you are!"

Still, there was no visible response. The man glanced up at them, shielding his eyes against the bright sunlight, but kept moving in their direction, apparently unconcerned.

Kate cocked the hammer of the gun back, preparing to fire. She was through with warnings.

Hearing the telltale click, Sawyer became alarmed. "_Easy_," he cautioned her. "He ain't even armed."

"You don't know that," she said through clenched teeth, not taking her eyes off the figure approaching them.

It was true that he didn't appear to carry any kind of weapon. His hands swung free at his sides, heavily gloved in an odd brightly-striped pattern, with a matching scarf around his neck. His coat was baggy enough to conceal a gun, but he didn't reach for one. It was old and faded, the kind of pea-green shade typical of an Army jacket, but closer to the style worn by protesters than in the actual military. He seemed to be in his mid to late fifties. Though he was balding slightly at the top, his dark blonde hair was long and straggly, and a scruffy beard completed the image. He looked, strangely enough, like a homeless Vietnam War veteran.

Kate kept her finger on the trigger, already exerting a slight pressure.

"Greetings!" the man now called out, raising one arm as if hailing a cab. "Hey, are those guns, or are you just glad to see me?" he shouted, and then chuckled, coming to a slow stop a few feet in front of them, shaking his head. "Boy, I tell ya, that joke just never gets old."

He paused for a second to catch his breath, staring at them closely. They both still maintained their defensive postures, weapons aimed at him, although their expressions registered growing bewilderment.

"Kate Austen, I presume?" the man asked with a goofy smile, looking from one to the other. "And that would make you James Ford, also known as _Sawyer_. Correct?"

"Who are you?" Kate demanded, masking her fear with cold hostility.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the man said, as if he genuinely meant it. "How rude of me. Name's Clifford Whitaker." He held out his hand to shake. "And I'll be your host for this evening." He laughed at his own lame joke, adding in mock surrender, "Just kidding."

Sawyer turned his head to look at Kate. "_This _is the guy?" he asked, lowering his gun with a mix of irritation and profound relief. He shook his head, saying under his breath, "Why am I even surprised?"

Kate still held her weapon trained on the man, ignoring his proffered hand. She couldn't seem to relinquish her stance. But he waited with patience, and after a long moment of regarding him warily, she drew her gun back towards her body, letting her breath out. With obvious reluctance, she extended her hand toward his. He grabbed it and pumped it warmly.

Now that it was obvious who this man was, she felt just a bit ridiculous, like they should have known, or at least suspected his identity. The possibility that he could be the person they'd been looking for hadn't even occurred to them, since they both always assumed the worst. Really, though, how could they not, in a situation like this? After all, it was better to assume the worst and be pleasantly surprised than to take their safety for granted. And that would probably never change.

"Why didn't you stop?" Kate asked, her tone still hard-edged. "I almost shot you."

"I knew you wouldn't." Clifford said this with simple faith. His brown eyes emanated a benign, almost childlike aura of goodwill.

Sawyer gave a sarcastic scoff. "You don't know her very _well_, then."

He still seemed unfazed. "Actually, to tell you the truth, it's not the first time I've had a gun pointed at me. Part of my job is protecting these beautiful creatures you see before you from poachers." He gestured across the river, indicating the herd of caribou. "It's still the Wild West out here, you know. And _speaking _of the Wild West, I hear through the grapevine that you two desperados might need a place to hide out for awhile."

His manner of delivery reminded Kate of a stand-up comedian. A very _bad _stand-up comedian. But at least he seemed to have good intentions. "I know it's a lot to ask," she said. "We're complete strangers, and you don't owe us anything..."

"Look, why don't we just cut to the chase, Gallagher," Sawyer interrupted. "Do you have a place we can live, or not? We'll pay you for it. We ain't askin' for charity."

"Well, I'm afraid that just wouldn't work out," Clifford said with regret.

Kate looked down quickly, trying to hide her disappointment.

But he continued. "You see, I try to avoid monetary exchanges whenever possible. Money is the root of all evil." He thought for a second. "Actually, I believe the exact Biblical quote is _Love of money is the root of all evil_. It's often taken out of context. I should really be more careful handling my sources, though the meaning is essentially the same. But... Well, you kids get the point." He smiled at Sawyer and Kate, and then realized that they did _not_, in fact, appear to get the point. He clarified. "It would be my pleasure to offer you a place to hang your hats. If you were _wearing _hats, that is. Which you're not. But the offer stands, all the same." He paused, and then summed up with, "I'd love the company."

"_Right_," Sawyer said without enthusiasm, looking at Clifford like he was some new and particularly annoying lifeform. He angled his chin in the direction they'd been traveling, and asked, "How much further we have to go?"

"Follow me." Clifford turned and began to walk. Kate and Sawyer glanced at one another, as if to confirm that they were really going through with this, and then took off after him.

"Thank you so much, Mr... Whitaker," Kate said, struggling to remember his last name.

"Oh, call me Clifford. Or Cliff. We don't stand on ceremony up here," he said, turning to look back at her. "As a matter of fact, feel free to refer to me by my wilderness name - _Glacier Mountain Bear_."

She bit her lip, while Sawyer rolled his eyes in disdain. "I'll stick with Clifford," Kate said.

"Suit yourself," he said genially. "But don't underestimate the importance of the wilderness name. It's all about capturing one's essence, without all the false trappings of societal tradition." Coming to a complete stop, he turned to examine Kate. He lifted his hands as if to frame her face in the air, and then said in a tone of pronouncement, "Raging River Starlight. That's your wilderness name. It just _came to me_, like a vision."

She smiled, contemplating this for a second. "I like it."

"You really think you need another nickname, Freckles?" Sawyer wondered out loud. What he meant, Kate assumed, was that she didn't need another nickname from someone other than _him_.

Clifford, however, misinterpreted his jealousy. He turned toward him. "I can give you one too, if you like." He appeared thoughtful. "Something rugged, but... with a vulnerable undertone."

"No _thanks_," Sawyer said, clearly disturbed. He walked off, leaving them behind.

Kate, suppressing a laugh, waited until he was out of earshot. In a conspiratorial tone, she told Clifford, "Let me know what you come up with." Already, she could foresee plenty of delightful opportunities to mess with Sawyer by threatening to use his "wilderness name."

It soon became apparent, after a little more walking, that Clifford was leading them straight to the small ski-plane, rather than showing them the ground route by which to find his residence.

"Is there room for us?" Kate asked. She looked excited.

"Sure," Clifford said. "It seats four. I used to own a helicopter, but I've since upgraded to this little beauty. Best way to travel!"

Sawyer pulled his equipment off his back. "_Great_. Just how I wanted to end this trip... with another damn plane ride." He seemed resigned enough not to seriously protest, however. He tucked his gun back into his coat, and Kate did the same.

"Well, look at it this way. We're only a few minutes from our destination, so even if we crash... it won't take long." Clifford passed along this bit of wisdom as he loaded their gear into the plane.

"That supposed to be comforting?" Sawyer asked.

Clifford considered. "I suppose not." He smiled and circled around to the front.

Sawyer stared after him with misgivings, then followed Kate up into the tiny backseat of the plane. Crammed together, they tried to settle themselves, pretending that they were perfectly comfortable. To Kate's mortification, she soon discovered that her lap belt didn't quite reach all the way around her middle. Sawyer helped her loosen it, wisely choosing not to comment. She was proud of him for this restraint. "Thanks," she muttered, her face hot.

Next Sawyer fastened his own belt, while Clifford fiddled with the knobs and dials in the front. Within moments, the engine was droning and the propellers were spinning.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated until the captain has turned off the Fasten Seatbelt sign!" Clifford called out as the plane began to move, turning around in his seat slightly to see if Kate and Sawyer had appreciated the humor. The answer appeared to be no.

In a smooth, almost floating motion, they felt themselves glide over the snow-packed ground, gaining in speed by the second. When it looked like they were going to crash right into the stony edge of the basin they'd recently climbed over, the small plane miraculously lifted into the air, rising faster than Kate would have thought possible. She felt that familiar weightless sensation in the pit of her stomach, followed by an alarming stab of nausea that passed away almost as soon as it began. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, noticing that Sawyer was watching her. "I'm fine," she told him, though he hadn't said anything out loud.

The female caribou and their young, once again disturbed as the plane swept across the river and over their heads, fanned out in nervous patterns. "Sorry, gals!" Clifford apologized, waving down at them.

They rose higher and higher, until the river itself was just a narrow, trickling stream. The plane hugged the mountains, dipping in and out of the snow-capped peaks. The view below them of dark green forest and icy blue lakes was staggering. It was like nothing either one of them had seen before. "Look at that," Kate said in awe, trying to speak loud enough to be heard over the engine.

For once, Sawyer couldn't help but agree. He stared out his window, mesmerized. "Pretty damn impressive." He raised his voice, speaking to Clifford in the front. "You own all this?"

"Technically the Canadian government owns most of it," he hollered back. "My own personal property consists of about five hundred acres. But I like to think that it all belongs to me in spirit!" He glanced at them, hastily correcting himself. "And to everybody who loves it, of course."

Sawyer didn't respond directly to this bit of nonsense.

Kate finally tore her gaze away from the view. She leaned forward a little. "Do you think you could teach me to fly this thing?"

"Of course!" Clifford said, thrilled. "There's nothing to it, really. As soon as you get settled in, we'll start lessons."

She leaned back again, satisfied, and then noticed the look Sawyer was giving her. "What?" she said defensively. "For _emergencies_."

Clifford had been telling the truth about the short distance. It seemed that they hadn't been in the air for more than five minutes when they noticed a distinct change in altitude, as the plane began to drop lower and lower. "Hang on tight... Landing time!" he called back to them.

He flew in ever shortening circles over a cleared patch of snowy ground, though it was nearly impossible for Sawyer or Kate to get a good look at the area below them with the constant change of angle. They approached nearer and nearer to the ground, the mountains rising up above them again, resuming their rightful stature. With a small jolt, the skis of the plane touched down and the aircraft glided along a well-worn icy runway, the speed decreasing as they neared a wooden shed-like structure, obviously the hangar. With expert maneuvering, as easily as if he were parking a car in a garage, Clifford nosed the plane into the shed where it came to a final stop. He cut the engine and the drone faded away into absolute silence.

Glancing back at them as he opened his door to climb out, he announced unnecessarily, "We're here!"

They remained seated alone in the plane for a moment, suddenly apprehensive. Despite the fact that they'd been trying to get to this place for months, everything now seemed to be happening too fast. Was this really what they wanted? What if they were making a mistake? They were both relieved that the journey was coming to an end, but this was all just a little daunting.

Sawyer gave Kate's fingers a slight squeeze, managing to sound casual. "You heard the man. We're here."

They climbed out, and Clifford helped them unload their equipment. Upon emerging from the dark hangar, they finally got a closer look at the property. There wasn't a great deal to see, they soon realized, at least not above ground. Aside from a few outbuildings and barns, the main thing that caught their attention was a row of giant satellite receivers, all pointed zanily in different directions. There were at least twenty of them, Kate estimated. What on earth could he need with so many? There were also what appeared to be panels for collecting solar power, though she hoped this wasn't his _only _energy source.

Scanning the vicinity, they found that Clifford's actual residence seemed to be exactly what they'd been told it was - an underground bunker. A stone stairway led down below ground level, and a solid metal door was cut directly into the earth. It looked a little bit like a storm shelter, Kate thought, similar to the one they'd had on the farm in Iowa when she was a kid.

What she was really interested in, though, was the rock chimney she could just barely discern peeking up above a hill a few hundred yards off, in a densely forested area. She assumed this was the cabin they'd heard about, but she refrained from mentioning it just yet. Part of her was afraid to see it, afraid to claim it as her own. It would make everything too real.

"So what exactly is it that you _do _up here?" Sawyer asked as they moved toward the bunker. He was looking at the row of satellites in confusion. "Other than babysit reindeer."

"I'm involved in various research projects at the moment," Clifford explained. "Some authorized, some... not so authorized. Of course, I still have minimal contact with Berkeley. That's where I got my doctorate from."

"You're a doctor?" Kate asked. Sawyer noticed the immediate spark of interest in her eyes, and shot her a dirty look.

"Not _that _kind," Clifford admitted, affecting humility. "I have a PhD in biochemistry, so I suppose I'm technically a scientist. But I was only in the fifth year of my professorship there when I was...asked to leave," he said, as if he were choosing his words with precision.

"Get fired?" Sawyer asked bluntly.

"In a manner of speaking," he hedged. "Though I was also requested by the authorities never to return to the state of California."

Kate and Sawyer cast each other strange looks. Who the hell _was _this guy? It sounded like he'd been in nearly as much trouble as they had.

"Well, who needs 'em, right?" Clifford continued, brightening up. "This paradise here is the best place in the world for scientific research. I've got plenty of space, plenty of time, and no one getting in my face asking..._ difficult questions_." He smiled at them.

From one of the nearby outbuildings, a huge dog suddenly came bounding toward them. "There's my girl!" Clifford exclaimed affectionately. The dog leaped in frantic circles around him, rising nearly above his head in its exuberance. "There's my Athena-girl," he repeated in baby talk, hugging her as she jumped against him. "Did you miss me? Did you?"

"Is that a _wolf_?" Kate asked, recalling her harrowing experience of the previous night.

"Sure is," he said, then noticed her vaguely troubled expression. "Oh, don't worry. She's perfectly tame. I've raised her from a puppy. Her mother was killed by a bear." He lowered the wolf's paws from his chest, patting her on the head. "She's still got a wild side, of course. She comes and goes as she pleases. But she wouldn't hurt a fly."

The wolf now approached the two strangers Clifford had brought home with him, sniffing cautiously at first. Kate held out her hand, and it laid its ears flat against its head and sidled up to her, ignoring Sawyer. She kneeled down in front of it, running her fingers along the light gray fur. There was a wise, powerful glint in the wolf's amber eyes that seemed to look right through her. It was a truly beautiful creature, though still a little imposing up close.

"Alicia said you had a lot of animals," Kate said, stroking the wolf's neck.

"Alicia?" Clifford echoed, as though he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "Alicia _Morris_?"

She nodded.

"I didn't realize you'd met the Morris family," he said with a slowly growing smile. "Wonderful! They're terrific people, aren't they? I tell ya, that little girl is really something."

"She is," Kate agreed, smiling. She looked at Sawyer, as if for confirmation, but he seemed bothered by something. Almost before he spoke, she realized what it was.

"Wait a minute," he said. "They didn't tell you we were on our way up here?"

"Well, _no_," Clifford said, scratching his head. "I haven't talked to Mark or Alicia in weeks."

"Then... how did you know?" Kate asked. She'd simply assumed, like Sawyer, that the Morris' had alerted Clifford out of well-meaning concern for their safety, despite the fact that Alicia had said they wouldn't. No other possibilities had even occurred to her.

"I thought you knew." Clifford looked at them strangely. "I've been on the lookout for you two for, _gosh_... over a month now. My good friend Margaret contacted me back in... it must have been November, to tell me you were on your way."

Kate slowly rose to her feet again, her expression sad. Now it made sense. "You mean Meg," she said softly.

Clifford searched his memory, then nodded. "Some people call her that."

"You haven't heard then." She was already giving him a sympathetic look. After a pause, she forced herself to continue. "About what happened."

He stopped to give her his full attention. "What happened?"

Kate looked at Sawyer, silently asking him to take over. Not only because it was his aunt they were discussing, but because she wasn't sure if she could say the words to this man they'd just met.

"Meg's dead," Sawyer said, his voice harsh in his efforts not to convey any emotion. "Died in a car wreck, couple weeks back."

Clifford kept watching him, as if waiting for something else, but when it didn't come, his face registered surprise and confusion. "Huh," he said, as if to himself. He looked from Sawyer to Kate, and then back again, lost in thought. "_Weird_." Then, shaking himself, he gestured toward the stairway and asked in a polite tone, "Shall we go in?"

Sawyer watched him disappear down toward the door, and then moved nearer to Kate. "I thought he said they were _close_." He seemed hurt by Clifford's mild reaction to Meg's death, but he masked it with annoyance.

Kate didn't quite understand it either, but she tried to be diplomatic. "Everyone deals with grief in their own way, Sawyer. I'm sure he's hurting on the inside." She headed toward the stairway, and he followed her, sulking a bit. The wolf, Athena, trotted back to the shed she'd come from earlier, sensing that the excitement was over for today.

The heavy outer metal door was pulled back with a squealing of hinges, and they found themselves in another entranceway, this one enclosed and containing a regular wooden door. Kate could almost _feel _Sawyer dying to make some kind of Alice in Wonderland rabbit-hole reference, but he thankfully held back. Clifford switched keys and opened the second door.

"Welcome to my menagerie," he told them.

They were led down a short hall that opened up into a large, rectangular-shaped room. It was presumably what served for his living room, though it didn't much resemble one. To their left, one entire wall was covered with aquariums, like an exhibit at a zoo. It gave the room a bluish glow. Fish of all different shapes and sizes could be seen at a glance. The opposite wall housed similar aquariums, though these weren't filled with water, and Kate suspected they contained reptiles. She didn't examine these too closely. The sound of the door opening had also alerted Clifford's feline friends to his return, and three or four of them came running from other rooms to purr and meow loudly around their feet.

Sawyer reached down absently to run his hand along the back of a brown tabby. "Hey, Puss." It arched up, rubbing against his leg.

Kate turned around to watch. "You like _cats_?" she asked, somewhat surprised.

He straightened up quickly. "_No_," he said with exaggerated contempt, as if wondering where she could have gotten that idea. Kate didn't completely appear to believe him, however.

"_Hello_. _Hello_." A friendly squawking came from one corner of the room. They looked over to see a large green and yellow parrot in a tall, ornate cage. It was trying to get their attention, climbing on the bars nearest them. "_Hello_."

"Hello, yourself," Sawyer said as they moved toward it.

"_Piss off_," the bird replied, with seeming good humor.

"Hey!" Sawyer said, offended.

"_Sonofabitch_. _Sonofabitch_," the bird squawked in a sing-song rhythm. It hung upside down from its perch. "_Piss off_. _Sonofabitch_."

Kate laughed out loud, shocked but delighted by the foul-mouthed parrot. "Have you two met before?" she asked Sawyer, unable to help herself.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Funny."

"Uh, you'll have to excuse Wendy, here," Clifford said apologetically, appearing behind them. "She's had a stressful week." He whistled to the bird. "Isn't that right?"

"_Go to hell_," Wendy chirped, ruffling her feathers.

Clifford raised his hands in the air and dropped them, looking at Kate and Sawyer in a _What are you gonna do?_ manner. He moved toward a long, dark hallway that opened out from the room. "Yoo-hoo!" he called as he disappeared into it, cupping his hands around his mouth. "I hope you're decent - I've brought dinner guests!"

Kate looked up from the cage, nervous. "Is there someone else here?" she asked, though Sawyer couldn't possibly know more than she did.

"I wouldn't worry," he said in a low voice. "He's probably talkin' to some hamsters."

A loud screech of metal reached their ears from down the hallway. Angry muttering and curses followed, in what sounded like a woman's voice. Suddenly, the parrot began shifting back and forth from one foot to the other, nervously. "_Uh-oh. Uh-oh. Uh-oh_," it said over and over again, obviously filled with dread. "_Sonofabitch_. _Uh-oh_."

Kate glanced at Sawyer, concerned, but before they had a chance to say anything, Clifford pushed a wheelchair into the room. The woman seated in this wheelchair wore a voluminous nightgown and fuzzy slippers. Immediately upon entering, she reached down, removed one of these slippers, and threw it at the bird cage with all her might. "Go to hell!" she shouted.

The parrot gave an alarmed squawk, flapping its wings. "_Sonofabitch_."

"That's right!" the woman yelled with angry glee, pointing her finger. "That's _exactly _what you are!" She looked up at Clifford. "I'm tellin' you right now, I'm gonna strangle that damn bird."

Sawyer and Kate both stood frozen, rooted to the floor. Kate's hand covered her mouth, her eyes widened with astonishment. She looked as if she might pass out. Sawyer didn't seem to be recovering any faster than she was. It felt like time was standing still.

Slowly, Kate lowered her hand. In a shaky, disbelieving voice, she finally managed to whisper, "_Meg_?"

And now the woman turned her attention to them, noticing their presence for the first time, or at least pretending to. "Well," she exclaimed wryly. "Look who finally decided to show up! What did you do, take a detour through China?"

With this undeniable confirmation, Kate's features crumpled with emotion and she moved toward her, sinking down onto the end table just next to the wheelchair and resting her face against Meg's arm, too overcome to manage any kind of response yet.

"Margaret, these two were under the impression that you were no longer among the living," Clifford said in order to explain Kate's reaction. He seemed to be enjoying the dramatic scene that he'd created by not telling them she was alive when he'd had the chance. But even Sawyer was still too shocked to resent this.

"I imagine they _did _think so," Meg said. "Left me for dead on the side of the road, like a damn armadilla."

Kate finally raised her head up, her face wet. "You told us to," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "You _made _us leave."

Meg laughed, surprised that she'd been taken seriously. She relented, saying, "I guess I did, didn't I?" With a brusque, no-nonsense movement, she pushed Kate's hair out of her face and back behind her ears. "How you been, girl?"

Kate only shook her head a little, still crying, not knowing how to answer this question.

Giving her a few seconds to regain her composure, Meg turned her attention to Sawyer. He still stood across the room. She held out her hand. "James."

With great effort, he forced himself to move and came toward her, reaching out reluctantly to let her grasp his fingers. The look on his face was difficult to interpret, but he seemed to be involved in a complex struggle with his own emotions. He tried for flippancy, not managing it very well. "Shoulda known you were too stubborn to die that easy."

Meg smiled in agreement. "Ain't that the truth."

With an abrupt motion, he withdrew his hand from hers, suddenly looking frightened. "There a bathroom around here somewhere?" he asked Clifford.

"Just down that hall, and then turn left," he told him, gesturing with his arm.

"Be right back," Sawyer mumbled, disappearing from the room.

Meg turned to look after him knowingly, and then spoke to Kate. "Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say he needs to have himself a _moment_." She considered. "Or maybe he just has to piss like a racehorse. One or the other."

Kate laughed a little, wiping her sleeve across her face. She had the dazed look of someone trying to convince herself she wasn't dreaming.

Meg watched her, and then said to Clifford, "You'd better check the spaghetti. I went to too much trouble for it to be ruined now."

Taking the hint, he left the two of them alone, saying "I'm on it!" The cats followed him, probably hoping to be fed.

Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath to compose herself, Kate leaned back a little, still sitting on the low end table. She examined Meg, trying to hold it together. The older woman seemed to have shrunk, somehow. She was only half the size she'd been the last time they'd seen her, and her pasty skin hung in sagging folds from her frame. Even her hair seemed thinner and strangely limp, and beneath her eyes were dark circles of pain and fatigue. Her eyes, though, were exactly the same - snapping vibrantly and with a distinct impatience for everything their gaze fell upon.

Seeing how much she was physically altered, Kate's first impulse was to say that she was sorry, that she would never stop being sorry. Her guilt was overwhelming. But she remembered all too well Meg's last warning to her, and she was afraid to risk her wrath by breaking that promise and uttering weak words of apology. Instead she settled for a more neutral opening. "How did you get here?"

"Cliff flew me up, last week. Couldn't take that hospital anymore. They wanted me to stay longer, but I told 'em to go to hell."

"_Go to hell_," the parrot repeated, obviously quite familiar with the phrase by now. Meg made a motion to throw her other slipper at the cage, and the bird hunkered down, chirping quietly, "_Uh-oh_." Slowly, satisfied that she'd made her point, Meg put the slipper back on her foot with an obvious effort.

"Figured you and James'd already be here," she said to Kate, raising back up. "What in God's name took you so long?"

Kate couldn't think of where to begin to answer that question. "A lot's happened since we saw you." She looked down at her lap. "It's a long story."

"Save it for later, then," Meg advised her. "There's not much to do up here." She paused, then asked with a secretive smile. "So... what do you think of Cliff? He's a trip, isn't he?"

"I like him," Kate said, telling the truth. She added, "I'm not so sure about Sawyer. But he doesn't like anybody." Looking at Meg more closely, she asked in a tentative way, "Are you gonna stay here? With Clifford?"

"Why? You _want _me to?" Meg seemed to expect a negative response to this.

"Yeah," Kate admitted, a little embarrassed. "I do."

Meg sniffed. Unwilling to acknowledge her pleasant surprise, she simply said, "I'll think about it."

Smiling slightly, Kate accepted this as the closest thing to a _yes _she could hope to hear.

"How's my great-nephew?"

The question came out of nowhere, and at first Kate had no idea what she was talking about. Then it hit her, and she blushed. "Fine," she said, not wanting to drag out this part of the conversation. "I went to another doctor. Everything's fine." She considered asking Meg why she thought it was a boy, but decided to save it for another time. She had enough to process today, without dwelling on that.

There was an awkward silence, and she didn't quite know what to do with herself. So she got up and retrieved Meg's other slipper from the opposite side of the room, where it had bounced off the bird cage. Bringing it back, she crouched down to replace it on the older woman's foot for her.

Meg watched, suspicious but allowing her to proceed. All of a sudden she grabbed Kate's left hand and lifted it toward her face, squinting at it. Too late, Kate realized she was staring at the wedding band. She winced inwardly, wishing she'd remembered to hide it, at least for this initial encounter.

Turning it in the light, Meg examined the ring. "I believe I've seen this before."

Kate replied carefully. "You have."

"_Mmm-hmm_," Meg said. "Damn right I have." She gave Kate a sharp look, lowering her hand but not letting go of it. "This is a _family _ring. Are you a member of the family?"

Though there was nothing more tormenting than being skewered at the end of this woman's keen-eyed stare like a lab specimen under a microscope, Kate held her ground and didn't look away. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I am now."

Meg kept watching her, apparently trying to come to some kind of decision. Kate waited nervously. "Well," Meg said, finally letting go of her hand. "I hope you manage to wear it longer than _she _did."

There was no doubt about who this "she" referred to - Sawyer's mother. "I plan to," Kate said, drawing her hand back toward her body. She felt suddenly strong, as if she'd survived a grueling ordeal and come out of it the victor.

Giving her a perceptive smile, Meg seemed to feel that the matter had been settled once and for all. "All right then." She leaned back into the wheelchair with a sigh and then glanced around, noticing that they were still alone. "You think that boy fell in?"

Kate had been wondering the same thing. "I'll go check on him."

"_Hello_," the parrot said as she stood up to leave the room.

"Piss off!" Meg screamed at it.

Fighting the urge to laugh hysterically, Kate ducked into the hallway, going off in search of Sawyer.

She went down a long, narrow corridor, and then turned, locating the bathroom. He wasn't in it, and she hadn't really expected him to be. She knew that wasn't why he'd left the room. She continued down the hallway, seeking him out. To her surprise, other corridors branched off of this one, and she chose one at random. There were more rooms down here than she would have thought possible. The bunker resembled a hospital or a campus classroom building more than it did someone's home. Continuing her search, she found what appeared to be a fully stocked library, but he wasn't in it.

Choosing another hall, she passed at the end of it a dimly lit room, and then stopped, backtracking to peer into it more closely.

This room was filled with electronic equipment and eerily glowing computer monitors. Seated in a swivel chair in front of what looked like a radar tracking module was Sawyer, staring blankly into space. From the doorway, she could only see him in profile, but this was more than enough to cause her heart to give a lurch of sympathy for him. He seemed so disoriented, as if his entire universe had been thrown off-kilter. He also looked strangely _young _to her at the moment, almost boyish. Maybe it was just the lighting.

He suddenly glanced to the side, noticing her there.

"Hey," she said softly, leaning against the door frame. "You okay?"

"Got lost," he explained, his voice strained and a bit sheepish, as if he were trying to keep it in his normal joking register. "Place is like a damn maze."

"I noticed." She smiled.

Hesitantly, she walked into the room and approached him, placing her hands on his shoulders. Gaining more confidence, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, resting her chin against his ear. At first he stayed rigid, staring straight ahead of him. Then, letting his breath out slowly, he relaxed and reached up to stroke her arm, turning his head a little so that his forehead touched her cheek. For a long time, they remained like this, not moving at all.

"She's really alive," Kate whispered, her eyes closed.

It took Sawyer a while to answer. "How 'bout that," he finally said, in a husky tone of wonder.

Kate raised up slightly, pressing her lips to his temple. There was a knot in her throat. She'd never felt as much love for him as she did right now, but it would make him uncomfortable if he guessed that. She would keep it to herself.

Again they were quiet for a moment, and then Sawyer looked around him, as if noticing where he was for the first time. "What the hell _is _this stuff?"

Laughing quietly, Kate examined it too, smoothing his hair back where she'd rumpled it. "I don't know," she admitted. "Some kind of surveillance equipment, it looks like."

The mystery of exactly what kind of _research _Clifford was involved in only deepened the more they discovered. But maybe that was for the best. Trying to figure it out would keep them occupied during the remainder of this long winter.

"Dinner's ready!" Meg's voice came from a what sounded like a great, echoing distance. "You two ever eaten food cooked by a cripple before? If not, now's your chance!"

Sawyer closed his eyes in exasperation. She would never change.

"Come on," Kate said, pulling him to his feet. "I think I can find the way back."

Throwing his arm around her shoulders, he allowed her to lead him from the room.

* * *

The kitchen was comically large, considering that only one man used it. It appeared to have been built to feed an entire orphanage. The four of them sat at a picnic table in the middle of the room, surrounded by what felt like acres of gleaming stainless steel fixtures illuminated by fluorescent lights.

"So, let me get this straight," Meg said, coiling a strand of spaghetti around her fork. The noodles were overcooked, though she made no apologies for it. "You're legally _dead_?"

"Yeah," Kate confirmed. She wiped her mouth with a napkin. "They even have my remains. Or what they _think _are my remains."

Clifford seemed impressed. Even Meg had to give credit where it was due. "Christ almighty. I never woulda thought you could pull it off."

"We didn't, really," she admitted. "It was Paul. He set it all up." She reached for a glass of water, making a face at the strange sulfur taste of it. She made a mental note to herself that they'd have to buy the bottled kind.

"The long-lost _brother_, right?" Meg asked, skeptical. She shook her head. "Sounds like a soap opera."

"It _felt _like one," Sawyer said. He seemed to be getting back into his stride, relating to his aunt in the same familiar way he always had. "Kept waitin' for someone to get amnesia, to really seal the deal."

Kate rolled her eyes at him. It hadn't been _that _bad.

"And then you stayed with these _miner _people?" Meg asked. She was trying to get the sequence of events correct, as if it were important to her to know exactly what had happened in their lives since she'd last seen them. For both, it was a new experience, to have someone be interested in them in such detail.

"They're a fantastic family, Margaret," Clifford interjected. "I'll have to introduce you to them sometime. At first I was wary when I heard there were earth-rapists setting up shop so close. Oh, that's how I refer to miners," he explained, off their confused looks. "But when I got to know them, I just couldn't help but fall in love. In a... in a completely platonic way, of course." Smiling, he speared a vegetarian meatball. He was the only one eating them.

Kate let a few seconds pass before continuing. "Anyway. We would have been here sooner, but the weather wouldn't cooperate."

Sawyer gave her a pointed look. "Only because someone had the brilliant idea that we had to _walk _here."

"He's just mad because he had to leave his girlfriend behind," Kate teased, speaking to Meg and Clifford but looking right at Sawyer.

Meg laughed, always in the mood to make fun of her nephew. "I can't say I've got much interest in the parents, but I think I'm gonna like this little girl. Sounds like she has good taste in men."

"_There's _a conversation I'd love to hear," Sawyer muttered sarcastically. Kate could tell that he was already hoping to be miles away when the eventual meeting between Grace and Meg took place. Personally, she was looking forward to it.

The thought of introductions reminded her of something she'd been curious about earlier. Now seemed as good a time to ask about it as any. "So how did the two of you meet?" she said, referring to Clifford and Meg.

"Now _that's _an interesting story." Meg pulled her wheelchair out from under the table and retrieved another bottle of wine from the counter. She'd already informed them that she wasn't supposed to have alcohol with her medication, but that they could go to hell if they thought she was going to obey this rule. "You want to tell it?"

"You go ahead," Clifford told her. "I'm sure your version is more entertaining."

"If I can remember it, maybe." She popped the cork in the bottle and poured herself another glass. She poured Sawyer another glass as well, though he hadn't requested one. Kate tried not to feel jealous.

"Let's see..." Meg began, gathering her thoughts. "It was the spring of, what... '70? All those batshit crazy war protesters were right in their heyday, so it must have been '70 or '71. The University of Tennessee students were late bloomers, I guess. Took 'em awhile to even realize there _was _a war. By the time they started havin' their own protests, the police knew just how to handle it. One night in April, they arrested a whole gaggle of 'em, before they'd even had a chance to really get the damn thing started. Threw 'em in the Knoxville jail." She took a sip of wine. "All the liberals were up in arms about it... said it was a violation of the First Amendment. Or one of the amendments, anyway. So a couple nights later, _this _goon rolls into town to pay their bail for 'em." She gestured toward Clifford, smiling fondly. "Supposed to be some big political statement, right? Only the problem was, he got the dates mixed up, and by the time he got there, wasn't none of 'em left. They'd already _made _bail. There was no one in that damn jail except for my husband. And he wasn't there for no_ war protestin'_. He was there for the same reason he always was. Got drunk and knocked somebody's teeth out in a bar."

Smiling at the memory, Clifford nodded in confirmation.

"So what does this guy do?" Meg said. "He pays his bail _anyway_. Figured he'd come all that way to help someone out, so he was bound and determined to find a way to do it, even if it didn't have nothin' to do with the damn protest. But that's not the strangest part," she went on. "The strangest part is that John... my husband... invites the bastard _home _with him. You remember your uncle," she said to Sawyer. "He certainly wasn't known for his hospitality. But for some reason, he did it. Maybe he wasn't sober yet. Who knows? All I know is that _he _ended up staying with us for a month." She pointed her fork at Clifford. "And then he came back to visit every year. Isn't that right?" she asked. "I still can't understand how you two managed to get along. Most unlikely friendship someone could ever dream up."

"He was a good man," Clifford said, obviously sincere. "Once you got past the outer shell, anyway." He turned to Sawyer. "You know, you look a lot like him. I noticed it right off, when I saw you out there. It's the nose, I think. And also the jaw."

"All the Ford men had that jaw," Meg said, pleased by the fact that Clifford had remarked on the resemblance. "That's the Cherokee blood in 'em."

"What _Cherokee_?" Sawyer looked at her like she was crazy.

As if it were the most well-known fact in the world, she calmly said, "One of your great-great-granddaddies was an Indian chief."

He took in this information, completely dumbfounded. "You never told me that."

"Well," she pointed out. "You never asked."

It was the second time Kate had heard Meg say these words to Sawyer, after handing over to him a priceless nugget of information about his own family, his own obscured past. She wondered how many more of these the woman possessed. Maybe now, against all odds, Sawyer would finally have the chance to ask questions, and to receive the answers he'd always coveted. It seemed such a miraculous opportunity that Kate would have envied him, if she hadn't wanted it for him even more than he wanted it for himself.

"It's probably getting dark," Clifford now said, glancing at his watch. "I suppose I should take you on up to the cabin, if you've really got your heart set on it. But like I said before, you're welcome to a room down here. There's plenty of space."

"Thank you, but..." Kate began.

"They want to be on their own, Cliff," Meg interrupted, saving her the trouble. "They're young." She turned to Kate. "I hope you're not expecting the honeymoon suite, though."

"No," she protested. "Just... anything with a bed, will be fine." Hearing the way this sounded, she stopped, embarrassed. "I mean... because we're _tired_."

"I know what you _meant_." Meg said with a sly look. "Don't forget who you're talking to, sugar." Tossing back the last of the wine in her glass, she said in a thoughtful voice, "You know, Cliff, we shoulda knocked boots when we had the chance. It's not like I didn't offer. But you had to be such a damn gentleman."

"Now, Margaret," he said, as if they'd had this conversation before. "You were still mourning John. You know you would have regretted it."

"Well, you waited too long," she said with a sigh. "Now I can't feel anything below the waist, so I guess you missed your chance."

Sawyer pushed his plate away, his face contorted with disgust. "I can't listen to this," he groaned, standing up. "You ready, Freckles?"

Meg cackled with delight at his misery, enjoying it as always.

Kate stood too, but she still looked at Meg, worried. "Is it..." she said, and then forced herself to continue. "Is it permanent?"

"That's what they say," she answered, shrugging. "But they also said I wouldn't live, so what do they know? We'll show 'em. I don't suppose either of you happens to know a good spinal surgeon, by any chance?"

Kate turned to look at Sawyer with vague amusement, a question in her eyes.

"No," he said emphatically, staring back at her, hard. "We _don't_."

She turned back to Meg, a hint of a smile playing around her lips. In a conspiratorial tone, she whispered, "We'll talk later."

"You all right here by yourself for a bit?" Clifford asked Meg, preparing to lead them out.

"I'll manage."

"Night," Sawyer told her, only making brief eye contact. It was clear that he needed more time to process all of this before he could be truly comfortable with it.

Kate squeezed her hand. "Thank you for dinner." She wanted to say something more profound, but she didn't trust herself at the moment. Meg wouldn't want that, anyway, she assumed.

But maybe she was mistaken. When she and Sawyer had reached the door, Meg stopped them. "Hey." They turned to see what she wanted. She gave them a wry smile, arching her eyebrows.

"Welcome home."

* * *

The sun was sinking as Clifford led them out of the bunker and toward an untended path that wound around the satellites and outbuildings and then up into the woods. The tree cover was so thick here that there wasn't even much snow on the ground. After a few minutes of walking, the forest opened up again on one side to reveal a broad sweep of land stretching down to the river. They hadn't even noticed the river from the bunker, but it was still here, cutting right through the center of Clifford's property. It appeared to be broader and a bit deeper than it had been further south, though the water still flowed swiftly. It was comforting to see it again, like a familiar friend they'd been traveling with.

On their right, the cabin rose up into view. It sat perched just at the very edge of the tree line, with the entire dense forest protectively behind it, beginning almost at the back door. The front view looked out over the wide slope of snow-covered plain with the river coiling around the edge. The scenery was breathtakingly beautiful, and this was what immediately caught Kate's attention. She already had the urge to explore the forest, to tramp through it for hours on end, losing herself completely.

Sawyer, on the other hand, seemed to be more concerned with the actual structure itself. It was in an obvious state of disrepair and neglect, the roof buckling and the porch sagging. Here and there, panes of glass were missing from the windows. The cabin was one-story, with probably not more than four or five rooms. He stared at it without much enthusiasm, though he was clearly trying to reserve judgment.

"Well, here we are," Clifford said, leading them up to the front steps. "It's, uh.. it's certainly not the Hilton. It's not even a Motel 6, if you want the truth," he joked. "Nobody's lived in this place for a long time."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Kate said, determined to love it no matter what.

"If you say so." He didn't sound entirely convinced. "The chimneys are safe at least... nothing wrong there."

"Safe for _what_?" Sawyer asked. "Hiding bodies?"

"Well, there's a generator in the kitchen," Clifford went on. He seemed unsure of how to respond to sarcasm when it didn't come from Meg. "You should be able to find it with no problem. I'll run a power line up here tomorrow... get you hooked up to the well, too. We'll have to install a new hot water heater." He rested his arm on the post at the bottom of the porch steps, looking at Kate. "I can pick one up this weekend, from Fairbanks. I fly over to Alaska just about every week, so if you kids ever need anything, or if you want to come along, just say the word."

Then they wouldn't be completely cut off from civilization, after all. Kate breathed an inward sigh of relief, mostly for Sawyer's sake. It would mean more to him than it would to her. "I don't even know how to thank you," she told Clifford. How could words begin to convey how much all of this meant to them? He couldn't possibly know that he was giving them a second chance.

"Don't bother with it, then." He patted her on the shoulder in a fatherly manner. "You don't know how nice it'll be for me to have actual human neighbors. I've been on my own up here for too long. Starts to make you crazy after awhile. And seeing Margaret again, it's... well." He stopped, his expression taking on a wistful air, and he smiled to himself. Kate wondered if he'd once been in love with Meg. Maybe he still was.

"Anyway, here's the key. I'll let you explore the place by yourselves," he said, his voice returning to its normal hearty register. "I need to check on the horses." Starting back down the path, he called out in explanation, "I've got a mare who went and got herself into a _delicate condition_, out of season. We're expecting a new arrival any day now. Oh, but I'm not judging her, mind you. It was a crime of passion!" He waved. "See you tomorrow!"

"Good night!" Kate called after his retreating figure.

And finally they were alone again. She looked at Sawyer, and together they climbed up the steps onto the porch, the wood groaning beneath them. Cautiously, they peered around for a few seconds, examining the exterior and peeking through the dirty windows. Each seemed to be waiting for the other to break the silence. The gurgling rush of the river was the only noise to be heard.

Kate finally took the initiative. "So, this is it. What do you think?"

Sawyer tapped at a loose chunk of mortar near the front door, which promptly fell off and landed at his feet in a cloud of dust. "Needs a lot of work," he said, stating the obvious. "It'll take some time, to make it really livable."

"We've got time." She said these words simply, only realizing as they left her mouth how true they were. Almost unbelievable, and yet still true.

"These boards are damn near rotted through," he went on, staring down at his feet as he tested his weight in different spots. "Whole porch'll have to be replaced." He glanced up at her, and she was surprised to see that there was something resembling _anticipation _in his attitude. As unlikely as it seemed, could it be possible that he was actually looking forward to such a project? Maybe she'd underestimated him, once again.

She leaned against the front railing, crossing her arms. "Can I watch when you do it?"

"Whatever turns you on, sweetheart," he said, amused. "Afraid I'll probably have to wear a shirt, though."

She responded with a sly grin. "We'll see about that."

He came to stand next to her near the railing, their arms just barely touching. They looked out over the river, which glowed lava-orange in the dying sun.

"Looks deep enough to swim in, down there," Sawyer remarked.

Kate tried to picture what he must be seeing in his mind, so that their visions would correspond. The snow would melt and the spring would bring in fast-scudding clouds against a piercing blue sky. Mud everywhere at first, and then the dry brown grass would turn green, and then an even darker green, and it would grow tall and be spotted with wildflowers. The mountains would be blue in the distance, the only white visible at the very highest peaks. The air would shimmer with warmth and sunlight. In July, the baby would be born. In August it would be a year since they'd met. She said softly, in a tone of wonder, as if her words could encompass all of these images, "That's our front yard."

He shook his head a little, as if he couldn't quite believe it. "Hell of a long way from Tennessee."

"It's a long way from everywhere," she agreed. "Isn't that what we wanted?"

Accepting this as a rhetorical question, Sawyer remained silent.

Kate felt a sudden sense of peace drift over her, unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. It wasn't a pure, blissful peace, but she wouldn't have wanted that anyway. It wouldn't have been real. What she felt was much deeper, and much more powerful. Because there wasn't going to be any_ happily ever after _for the two of them here. The place was far from ideal. Like them, it needed a lot of work and would require a lot of time and patience. It would probably never be perfect. But that was okay, somehow. Because it didn't have to be perfect to be _home_. And home was all they needed it to be.

They wouldn't stay here forever. She was too realistic to believe that they could manage that. She knew herself too well, and she knew Sawyer too. Their innate restless drives would get the best of them, eventually. They would leave here, and try out someplace else. Then they would leave that place too, and the one after that as well, most likely. But _this _place... this cabin in this remote and beautiful corner of the world, would still be here, waiting for them. It would always be here, and more importantly, it would always be _safe_. They could come back to it whenever they wanted. No matter where they went, it would exist as an anchor, ensuring that they didn't float off into terrifying empty space. If they separated, they would know to find each other here. Until obtaining it today, Kate hadn't even realized the absence in her life of that most key, essential thing - a place to come back to. And now this one would belong to both of them, as well as their child, forever.

"Do you really believe what you said last night?" she asked suddenly, not even realizing she was going to speak until the words were out. "That we don't stand a chance?"

Sawyer kept staring out at the river, but his expression darkened and became evasive. "That's not what I _said_."

Kate waited, not letting him off the hook over a matter of semantics. She understood that he felt hurt and betrayed by the fact that she was bringing up something from their argument yesterday. They rarely did that to one another. It was a sort of unspoken code they lived by, that once a fight was behind them, it could be revisited in private memory, obsessed over for hidden meaning, even referenced obliquely in pointed glances, but not mentioned _out loud_. To do so was the equivalent of ripping out stitches before a wound had even begun to heal, and she was now violating their tacit agreement to spare each other this pain. But just this once, she couldn't help it. She wanted to hear his answer. It seemed essential that she hear it before they went through that front door.

She repeated her question insistently, turning to look right at him, emphasizing every word. "_Do you believe it_?"

He finally turned to face her, but instead of replying, he pulled her toward him and began unbuttoning her coat from the bottom up, intently. She looked down at this process, confused. When he had it halfway opened, he parted it at her waist and stared at the slight swelling of her lower belly as if he would find the answer to her question there. Gently, he placed one hand over the growing roundness, fingers outspread. He seemed to be listening to something from a great distance, his expression tortured. Looking up, he met her eyes again. His voice was low and hoarse, the word dragged from him unwillingly. "_No_."

His sharp blue gaze burned into hers, filled with such an intense, almost _challenging_, love and protectiveness that she had to shut her eyes against it for a second, afraid that the deluge would overpower her. She leaned into him, grateful, exhausted, feeling the true import of his answer flood over her in warm, enveloping waves. It didn't really change anything, of course. It didn't ensure a future, and it didn't mean they would last. But it meant he believed they _could_. And that was all she needed to know. If he could believe it, then she could too.

He held her for a long time, leaning back against the porch railing. When she opened her eyes again and peered over his shoulder, the sun was completely gone. Streaks of orange were fast fading into mellow wisps of pink, darkening to purple at the outer edges. The multi-hued clouds were reflected in the river like cotton candy. On the banks, stately and majestic, the spruces and firs formed black silhouettes against the still, molten evening sky. The temperature was dropping by the second as night came on. It was getting too cold to stand out here.

Feeling as if she were coming out of a trance, Kate leaned back and looked up at Sawyer again. Her face was damp with tears, for the second time today.

He smiled at her now, the air between them thankfully cleared of tension. "You ready to check out the inside?"

Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out the key Clifford had handed her. With a sense of muted excitement, she passed it to Sawyer, wordlessly asking him to do the honors.

He moved toward the door and unlocked it, pushing it open. It swung inward like a door in a haunted house, creaking.

He poked his head in, and then moved forward a few steps, depositing their backpacks and bedrolls inside near the door. Straightening up, he looked around and gave a low whistle. "_Not bad_," he drawled to himself, surprised. "Smells like mouse droppings, but it's nice and roomy."

Kate remained leaning against the porch rail, listening to him. "Big screen TV on that wall..." she heard him say, making plans. "Maybe a mini-bar over there in the corner. Needs bookshelves."

She could just barely make out the shape of his dim outline in the fading light - his relaxed stance, his sloped shoulders, head cocked slightly to the side as he considered possibilities for the room. He was _hers_, she thought fiercely, the belief descending on her with no warning. It probably wasn't safe to think of him that way, but there was no help for it. They'd been through so much together to make it to this point. _So much_. They'd lived through a lifetime together in less than a year. All those days on the island, and then the second stage in their complicated relationship at the house in Tennessee, followed by this exhausting, death-defying road trip across the country. Their time together had been dangerous, and volatile, and heartbreaking, and still somehow beautiful. And she wanted more of it. Because reaching this place wasn't the end of anything, she now understood. It was just the beginning. For the first time in her life she grasped the real, vital meaning of that time-worn truism. This was just the _beginning_.

Eventually, Sawyer seemed to notice that she wasn't behind him. He came back to the door. "You comin' in, or not?" When she didn't answer right away, he teased her. "What, you want to make it like old times... go through the window?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked him, pretending to be serious.

He glanced around the porch, puzzled. "I already took the stuff in."

Seeing that he still wasn't catching on, Kate brushed her hair away from her face in an exaggerated manner, splaying her fingers to highlight the ring. She cleared her throat for extra emphasis.

"_Ahh_..." he said, tilting his head back in recognition. "I see what you're after. All right, girl, no need to get pushy."

He stepped toward her, and before she could even prepare herself, he'd swung her easily up against him, catching her legs with his right arm and holding her around the waist with his left.

She gave him a dazzling smile. "That's better."

Then, because it was impossible not to with their faces already so close and the warmth pulsing in waves between them, they brought their lips together in a heated series of kisses that left them both gasping.

"You better hope these floor boards ain't too far gone, Freckles," Sawyer said in a mischievous tone, just inches away from her mouth. "We fall through, we'll have to spend the night under the porch like a couple of hound dogs."

"Sawyer?"

Flashing his dimples at her, he waited for her next words. She kissed him again, one hand grazing over his scratchy cheek. He shifted her weight in his arms to allow her easier access. Out of breath, she pulled away, still smiling. "Just shut up and take me inside," she whispered.

Not allowing her to rush him, Sawyer kissed her one more time for good measure. Then he hoisted her higher in his arms and carried her through the entrance of the cabin that would become their new home. Without looking back, he kicked the door shut behind them.

FINIS


End file.
